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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25469089">Angeles</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyLisa/pseuds/LadyLisa'>LadyLisa</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hetalia: Axis Powers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Actors, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - 1940s, Alternate Universe - Hollywood, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Happy Ending, Fluff, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Healthy Relationships, Historical Hetalia, Historical References, Multi, Mutual Pining, Period Typical Attitudes, Pretentiousness About Wine, Romance, Sexual Content, Survivor Guilt, Violence, World War II</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 11:20:43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>64,299</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25469089</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyLisa/pseuds/LadyLisa</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>An amateur actor hoping for success in Los Angeles, Antonio has a one-night stand with enigmatic, infamous Lovino Vargas who helps him navigate the film industry until joining the war effort, leaving Antonio to struggle through fame alone while he confronts his own conflicts on the Western front.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>South Italy/Spain (Hetalia), minor Japan/America</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>63</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Antonio pushed his sweaty hair off his forehead and sank back against the unruly pile of pillows, trying to catch his breath. They were warm and had a lavender oil scent that had made Antonio sneeze at several inappropriate intervals since coming to Lovino’s apartment. </p><p>The tap shut off in the bathroom and Lovino stepped out, now in his underwear. He must have brushed his teeth and washed his face, as he smelled of soap and toothpaste, no longer that cologne Antonio had caught in the smoky bar downtown. </p><p>He went over to the sideboard by the window, carefully upturning two leaded crystal glasses and filling them from a carafe of Gewürztraminer, which was still foggy with condensation. </p><p>“Here.” Antonio took a glass and thanked him. Lovino laid back down, propping his jaw on his hand and perusing Antonio with his eyes for several seconds. With a quiet sigh, he gathered the blanket around his waist and smoothed a few wrinkles in the sheets, bored. They were soft gold, like champagne, and smelled faintly of it too, like Lovino had spilled but not bothered to change them. It wouldn’t have surprised Antonio.</p><p>Looking around the place, he got the feeling Lovino wouldn’t do anything himself unless he had to; it was all marble and gold, classical statues in the entryway and paintings of the Italian countryside on the walls. It was too much on everyone one of Antonio’s senses following his two weeks in Los Angeles, where he had seen only the grittiness and filth of every city. He lived in a glorified cupboard of a rented apartment where he could feel the springs in the bed, which was so small he had to lay straight with his arms at his sides to fit. Often he fell asleep to the sometimes-rhythmic banging in the pipes that doubled as his alarm. </p><p>Even the wine was too much. The notes of rose and strawberry should have been something subtle, but they were nearly cloying and too floral in his nose. </p><p>“Not to your taste?” Lovino asked, swirling his glass and scrutinizing Antonio’s expression. </p><p>“No, it’s good,” Antonio insisted. He was irritated at himself for sounding so dull, but he didn’t know how to act around Lovino. They had spoken very little, but judging by his home he was someone with status. Perhaps too much.</p><p>“You never answered my question,” Lovino said. “In the car,” he explained. “I asked you what you were doing in LA, but your mind must have been elsewhere.” He tapped his teeth on the rim of the glass as Antonio cleared his throat. “Are you trying to be a movie star?” he sounded sneering.</p><p>“Not… not really.” Antonio drummed his fingers on his glass. “I really do want to be an actor… I’ve done a lot of acting in my life, and people said I was a good one at home, but friends and family will tell you anything. And it’s not very realistic. I bet everyone comes to Los Angeles trying to make it in Hollywood, and maybe two of those five hundred make it. I’m looking at universities, thinking of going into naval architecture.” </p><p>“Hm.” Lovino scrutinized his wine. “And where’s home? You never told me that, either," he asked. </p><p>“You didn’t give me much chance,” Antonio said. Lovino gave a derisive sideways look. “Guanajuato. In Mexico.” </p><p>“Really? Mexico?” Antonio nodded. “You don’t have much of an accent.” </p><p>“Well, my parents are both from Spain. They grew up in this neighborhood of Spanish immigrants in Arizona. I guess they figured I might want to go back to the US someday so they made me learn English alongside Spanish.” Lovino nodded. “And actually, I did act in one picture. Last week, I was a corpse in a Great War short, but with my luck I’d never get to do a real screen test for a good role.” </p><p>“You think so?” Lovino echoed. “I disagree. In fact, you may be one of the luckiest people in all of LA tonight.” He took a sip of wine, lengthening the air of suspense. “You just fucked your way to the top in one night, Antonio.” </p><p>“What do you…?” Antonio started. Lovino held up a hand and went to refill his glass. There was even something stately about the way he moved, as though he was used to all attention being on him and therefore liked to put on a show. Each action was calculated and controlled. Antonio had first noticed it at the bar, and in that instant he wanted nothing but to take that all away from him, make him purely lawless. </p><p>Yet he considered it a distant fantasy, and it remained so the whole way to Lovino’s apartment. That was, until he realized Lovino wanted the same thing: to be utterly out of control and Antonio to be the reason. But now he had resumed his deliberate demeanor, having had his fun. Antonio, on the other hand, felt there was more the night had yet to offer him. </p><p>“Are you a studio executive?” Antonio asked.</p><p>“<em>Christ</em>, no,” Lovino said. “I am an actor. A rather adored one at that. You can think of me as the new Rudolph Valentino.” Antonio looked at him blankly. “You don’t know Valentino?” Antonio shook his head and Lovino shook his right back. </p><p>“Well, forget that. You’re stunning, I hope you can act. You would make a good flying ace with one of those darling little scarves and your hair all tousled.” Antonio scoffed. “It’s true. I’m not very good at those roles, I’m much better suited for the elegant, enigmatic gentleman who draws women away from their husbands without lifting a finger.” </p><p>“Oh really?” Antonio raised an eyebrow and sipped his wine. “And is that how you see yourself? If so, a word to the wise: narcissism and homewrecking aren’t all that attractive for us common people. Maybe it’s different since you’re a star.” </p><p>Color rose in Lovino’s cheeks and he turned away. Antonio got a bit guilty for putting a hit on his ego so quickly, but Lovino quickly brushed it off. </p><p>“Come by the studio tomorrow. There’s a director I’ve worked with a few times filming some propaganda war picture.” Antonio inclined his head. “Oh, you know. America’s all torn up over going into the war. For all we know this is being pushed by Roosevelt himself, trying to get boys to sign away their lives and join the military. Anyway, Mr. Kirkland would cut off his testicles to get you to star in it.” </p><p>“Who would I play?” Antonio asked.</p><p>“Probably some heroic soldier who’s quitting university to throw his allegiance to America. I’m sorry to stick you in a controversial movie from the start, but all it takes is one to get your face out there. In fact, controversy might be best. If you’ve got any talent, they’ll love you. Actually, they’d probably love you even if you don’t, but it would be very humiliating for me if you’re terrible.” He ran a hand over his hair distractedly. “Let’s run something.”</p><p><br/>
“<em>Now</em>?” Antonio asked, setting his wine down. “With a script?”</p><p><br/>
“Yes and no. I want to see how well you can get into a character. Let me think.” Lovino sat back on his heels and thought while Antonio sank into a spiral of panic. His stomach dropped and his heart was up too high, in the back of his throat. This night felt like the moment his entire life had led up to, and if he didn’t deliver, he would have failed the universe. </p><p>“Alright,” Lovino started. “You’re a single mother. Your husband left you for the secretary at his law firm, leaving you to raise your son with the help of a close friend who you may or may not be sexually attracted to. But she gets married and moves out, and then your son goes off to war in France. He’s always been a fragile boy and you’re scared for him, but he’s hellbent on it. Months later, I show up on your doorstep. I’m a captain from his battalion, who he spoke of in his letters, but you don’t know what I have to say.” </p><p>“That’s… a lot,” Antonio said. Lovino raised an eyebrow. “But I can do it.” </p><p>He took a moment to compose himself, because getting too nervous would be self-sabatoge. When he had acted at home, he liked the nervous excitement, used it to motivate himself. But he had no script to follow or fellow actors to fall back on. This was a trial of his own skill, and he wanted to be completely composed to perform as well as he could. </p><p>Swinging himself out the bed, Antonio slipped his trousers back on and tried to level out his breathing. “Okay, you can start,” he said. </p><p>“Alright. But we’ve got to be quick, it’s getting late,” Lovino said as he slunk off the bed. “Hello, Mrs. Johnson. You are her, correct?” He held out a hand. Antonio gave a stuttering nod, trying to fix his face into the expression of that lonesome, possibly lesbian matron who feared the worst seeing this man on her doorstep. He shook Lovino’s hand. </p><p>“I’m Lieutenant… Barbary,” Lovino decided. “I fought with him in Fr—”</p><p>“Yes, I know. He mentioned you in, in his letters.” He hadn’t let go of Lovino’s hand and squeezed it lightly. His fingers were thin beneath his own, his touch was gentle, and Antonio wondered for a moment what it would feel like to really hold his hand. </p><p>“I haven’t gotten one for some time, but… surely…” Antonio slowly sat back down on the bed, shaking his head. “Tell it’s not true, tell me my… my son…” Lovino sat down beside him, putting a hand on his arm. </p><p>“I’m very sorry, miss. He was very brave and died quickly.” Antonio tried to force some tears out of himself as he assumed his grief, but couldn’t do it, so dry-sobbing would have to do. He dug his nails into his forehead, shaking his head again. </p><p>“I’m sorry,” Lovino repeated. Now Antonio turned to him. He would have grabbed the front of his shirt, but seeing as he wasn’t wearing one, he reached for his shoulder instead. </p><p>“Is he here? Did they bring him home? Please, please tell me you brought my boy home, please…” Lovino put his hand over Antonio’s, and even though it was just for the act, Antonio felt a soft stir in his chest. He couldn’t help it. He’d just had sex with him, for God’s sake, and Antonio had never been able to completely sever emotion from physicality. Certainly he wasn’t one for one-night stands, but this was LA, and Lovino was beautiful and enigmatic as the city itself. He was Los Angeles, he was Hollywood. </p><p>“He was buried on the field.” Antonio stared at him in shock, searching Lovino's eyes. It made him blush, which was not appropriate to the character even slightly. He fumbled to recompose himself. “That’s a good place to stop,” Lovino added. “I’d let you stay later and sleep over, but my housekeeper’s coming in early and I can’t let her catch me with a man in my bed. I’m all out of hush money at the moment after paying off the last one.” </p><p>Antonio sighed, a little disappointed; he had been enjoying the challenge. </p><p>“Did I do alright?” he asked, gathering the rest of his clothes. </p><p>“It could have been better, but it'll do,” Lovino said. He watched Antonio the whole time he dressed. Did he do anything other than stare? “I’ll walk you out.” He led Antonio through the gorgeous foyer, pausing with his fingers on the door handle. “Anglicize your name when you get there. Go by Tony instead of Antonio, and use Carriedo, not Fernández. You’ll have a better shot if you sound American.” Antonio frowned.</p><p>“Does it really matter?” </p><p>“Yes.” Lovino opened the door. “Get there early. I’ll be at the gate and make sure they let you in,” he promised. Antonio nodded and stepped back into the hallway, too shocked to say a proper goodbye.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Antonio arrived at the Paramount Pictures studio just after the sun had come up. The morning air off the desert was cool and dewey, a gentle haze against the muted pink sky. </p><p>He saw Lovino past the gates, smoking beside a girl in a cream cotton dress, her blonde hair in loose curls over her shoulders. She pushed herself up on her tiptoes to whisper to him, and he murmured back in her ear. She laughed so loudly Antonio heard it above the chattering of people and the rush of cars behind him. He didn’t know if he should try to get Lovino’s attention somehow, so he simply stood there for a long while until Lovino chanced a glance over to the gates. </p><p>Lovino stubbed his cigarette out on the wall and walked over to the man picking people for bit parts, putting a hand on his shoulder before saying something and gesturing to Antonio. He nodded. </p><p>Then he was gesturing Antonio forward. Gesturing him into the studio, into the beating heart of Hollywood, of California, back to Lovino. The night had been the moment of culmination, when the wheel turned and he had pulled Death from the tarot deck. </p><p>Antonio stepped forward, crossing the distance to Lovino with the stars in his eyes. </p><p>“That’s your name?” the clipboard man asked. </p><p>“Tony Carriedo,” Lovino said, as if he was worried Antonio might forget his alias. “I’m going to introduce him to the director of that war picture. I think he would make a good ace.” </p><p>“Of course, go right ahead, Mr. Vargas.” He seemed overwhelmed being spoken to by Lovino. Antonio understood the feeling. </p><p>“I can’t guarantee you a spot, but it’ll be good to have you two acquainted,” Lovino said, leading a very dazed Antonio over to the girl leaning against the side of Stage Three. She peered at Antonio with inspired interest. “This is Emma Bruin. She’s my costar in this charming little train murder mystery we’re filming.” Emma smiled and offered her hand.</p><p>“Lovely to meet you,” Antonio said, shaking it. </p><p>“You’re sweet,” she said. “Nice to meet you too.” She let go of his hand and turned to Lovino. “We’ve got to be back on set in half an hour. Will you be quick?” Lovino seemed to consider. </p><p>“You know I can be quick if I need to. I’m never late,” he said. Emma frowned.</p><p>“Except every other day. And you know how pissed you make everyone when you are.” </p><p>“That’s why I do it,” Lovino said, shoving his hands into his pocket. “Come on, Tony. I’ll introduce you to Mr. Kirkland. He’s a real flat tire, so try and be as likeable as possible.” Antonio nodded, tagging along after him. He resisted the desire to grab the back of Lovino’s shirt so he wouldn’t be seperated in the jostling flow of people around them. </p><p>They ended up a good walk from the gate, at another one of the stages. Lovino opened the back door and led Antonio inside, even though Antonio got the feeling he shouldn’t be there. It was silent, and empty, and echoing. Like standing in a dark theatre after the last performance, watching the lights go off, knowing it was all over. Antonio felt heavy with a stomach-hollowing melancholy. </p><p>Lovino took him to the back, where there was a line of cramped offices, one of which he knocked on. The sound had a chilling reverb in the place. </p><p>A girl opened it. She had a cigarette between her fingers, the smoke rising towards the ends of her cropped hair, frizzy with humidity. “Hey, Mr. Vargas. Are you here to harass Arthur?” she asked. </p><p>“I’m introducing someone,” he said. “This is Tony.” Antonio offered her his hand, and she shook it with far more vigor than Emma. “Tony, this is Amelia. She’s Mr. Kirkland’s secretary. And between us, she can get you the real good stuff if you ever need a hookup.” Amelia winked. Antonio could think of a number of things that might be ‘the good stuff,’ but he didn’t ask for clarification. He didn’t want to sound callow. </p><p>“Don’t go tellin’ him everything right away,” Amelia complained as she let them into Arthur’s office. It was mostly an explosion of what appeared to be scripts and cups of stale tea. They weighed down on a sad little desk that looked like it had been left on the curb in the sun and rain for several weeks before being swept up and brought here. The legs were spindly, so much so Antonio was anxious seeing it covered by all the heavy stacks of paper. </p><p>Behind it sat an out-of-place, polished leather chair on which sat the supposed Arthur Kirkland, a cup of tea in hand. </p><p>“Mr. Vargas brought someone for you to meet,” Amelia explained. “You an actor?” she added to Antonio. </p><p>“Yes. Quite a good one, if I do say so myself. I know you were looking for a Great War flying ace, here he is,” Lovino said. </p><p>“I’m Tony Carriedo. It’s very nice to meet you, sir.” Antonio flashed a smile, but he did not get one back. Instead Arthur nodded curtly. </p><p>They began an awkward, stumbling conversation, with Arthur sipping his tea and asking Antonio questions about his acting experience. Antonio kept looking over at Lovino to check if he was saying the right thing, but Lovino was looking over one of the scripts and paying him little mind. Antonio was on his own to muddle his way through the conversation. He got the sense Arthur didn’t like him much, and that cracked his confidence and got him defensive and clumsy with his words. He had a definite slump to his shoulders when Amelia and Lovino finally led him out of the office. </p><p>“That went really poorly, I’m sorry, Lovino,” Antonio murmured. Lovino shrugged. </p><p>“Yeah, it did, but he’ll give you the part.” </p><p>“What are you talking about?” Antonio asked. “How is this even fair? I’ve got to audition, don’t I?” </p><p>“Sure,” Lovino said. “But you’ll already have the part. It’s a one-off propaganda flick, Antonio. Arthur got stuck directing it and he doesn’t want to spend any more time on it than he has to. He’s been scrounging around for a pretty face with minimal talent for a bit, so it was a major blessing to have you walk into his office, trust me. I have to go back on set. Stay with Amelia until Mr. Kirkland comes to find you.” He waved goodbye and left the stage, leaving Antonio in the odd darkness with Amelia at his shoulder. </p><p>They sat in the bare chairs facing an even barer stage, the lights off. </p><p>“You look stressed. You want a smoke?” she asked, offering him a box of Marlboros. Antonio took one and dug around in his pocket for a lighter. It was comforting to have the familiar feeling of a cigarette between his teeth when his whole day had been filled with nothing but the unfamiliar. </p><p>“What did Lovino mean by ‘the good stuff?’” he asked, bracing himself to be laughed at. Amelia snickered. </p><p>“Snow,” she said. </p><p>“He does coke?” Antonio asked. </p><p>“Not really, just once or twice,” Amelia said. “Everyone here has. I’ve got a spin in my necklace,” she went on, holding it up and shaking it at him. “If you start hangin’ out with Lovino, he’s gonna get you doing a line off some random girl’s tits by the end of the week.” That did not sound like Antonio’s idea of a good time, but he didn’t want to seem neutered and boring so he grinned. </p><p>“By the way, if you <em> do </em>get close to him, tell me if all the shit I hear is true.” </p><p>“What sort of shit?” Antonio asked. </p><p>“Well…” Amelia thought for a moment, tapping her cigarette. “Right now everyone’s talking about some orgy at the Springside Hotel. Do you know Emma?” </p><p>“The blonde girl? Bruin, I think her last name is?” </p><p>“Yeah. People say she was part of it too, but she isn’t talking. She likes to pretend she’s a good girl, but I’ve caught her in her dressing room with two Navy guys. She didn’t even seem embarrassed about it. In fact, everyone thinks she’s screwing Lovino in between scenes. My friend Mameko works on that set and she says they disappear all the time and show up smelling like a whorehouse, though that doesn’t mean they’re screwing <em> each other</em>. Just someone.” </p><p>Antonio digested this information while she grinned at his expression. “How’d you meet him?” she asked. </p><p>“At a bar. I told him I was new in town, and we talked about acting. He made me do a scene and I guess he decided I had a chance.” Amelia nodded. He heard the distant sound of a door opening in the empty silence, and Arthur calling out to Amelia, asking her to hunt down Antonio. </p><p>“Tony’s right here, Artie!” Amelia called. She grabbed his arm and pulled him up, marching him over to where Arthur stood. </p><p>“We start filming tomorrow at this studio. I’ll get you a copy of the script.” His voice was clipped, but Antonio smiled anyway: this was victory. Antonio gave Amelia a quick smile, and she punched him on the arm.</p><p>“Nice job, kid!” she said. Arthur returned and handed Antonio the script, but pulled it away at the last moment. “Do not be late,” he warned. “I’m doing you quite a favor, young man, I expect you not to squander it.” Antonio didn’t appreciate being called ‘young man’ by Arthur, but he let it go. There was no point getting into an argument with someone who was, as he put it, doing Antonio quite a favor. </p><p>Amelia plucked the script from Arthur’s hands and flipped through it, then passed it to Antonio. She led him back outside, and he had to put a hand on his forehead to shield his eyes from the sudden assault of brightness. </p><p>“Can I ask you something?” Antonio asked. Amelia nodded. “How did you get a job here?” </p><p>“Arthur,” she said. </p><p>“You’re not…” he inclined his head. </p><p>“Sleeping with him? <em> No</em>, Tony!” she yelled. “You’re so funny. Come on, let’s go have lunch.” </p><p>“It’s only ten,” Antonio said, appalled. </p><p>“And I’ve been up since two. Lovino always goes there after filming, he’ll meet us there.” Antonio sighed and followed her. He may as well. </p><p>They sat in a booth beside the window. Amelia ordered herself a sandwich and two Cokes, one of which she slid across the table to Antonio. He read over the script while she ate, occasionally looking out the window at the cars trundling by and the tall palms. The sun was hot on his hand and forced him to squint at the paper. </p><p>The story was about how Lovino had said it would be. He was playing a farmer’s son from Colorado who drafted himself into the war and was sent to fight in France. He quickly became a flying ace before being shot down by the Germans, prompting a daring escape from their custody to Paris via hitchhiking. In the city he was taken in by a touring theatre company and fell in love with some French girl who did makeup on set, but then he was called back to war and had to leave her. But of course, because it was Hollywood, he ended up helping win the war and returned home in glory with his chest heavy with medals and the girl from Paris on his arm. </p><p>He took a sip from his Coke bottle and looked back out the window at the waving palm trees the tourists hovering around the information office across the street. </p><p>“What do you think?” Amelia asked. Antonio shrugged and took another drink before closing the script. Amelia pushed her empty plate away and took the script to flip through it. “I wonder who’s going to play your lover. Probably Anneliese Edelstein.” </p><p>“Who’s she?” </p><p>“This bitch from Vienna. I have to help her get into costume and out of it, and she complains about everything, she drives me up the wall. She plays all the Euro girls, because she speaks about fifty thousand languages.” </p><p>“O-oh. Is she really that bad?” Antonio asked. </p><p>“Absolutely. She’s awful and prissy and rude, but she’s hot, so you’ve got that at least,” she said. Antonio frowned, not sure if she was joking or not. She spoke with so much exuberance he couldn’t really tell what emotion she was trying to express. He sighed and watched the tourists for a few more minutes before he heard the bell on the door tinkle and glanced up, relieved that it was Lovino. He had his arm around Emma. Antonio felt a touch of jealousy, but he had no reason to, so he pushed it down. </p><p>Lovino slid into the booth beside Antonio, and Emma stayed next to him, forcing Antonio to sit against the window. </p><p>“I heard you got the part. What did I say?” he asked. </p><p>“You were right. Thank you,” Antonio said, trying to ignore the sight of Emma laying her head on Lovino’s shoulder and him pulling her closer. She dug around in her purse and pulled out a flask, helping herself to what appeared to be half of it before Lovino plucked it from her hands. </p><p>“You want some?” he asked. Antonio shrugged and took a swig. He winced and grabbed Amelia’s napkin, holding it to his mouth.</p><p>“Pardon me, I’m not much of a vodka drinker,” he explained, lowering the napkin. Emma and Amelia laughed, and Emma took it back from him and tucked it back in her purse. </p><p>“We should celebrate,” Lovino added. “We’ll take you to The Rose. It’s a very popular bar in Santa Monica, where all the stars go.” </p><p>“We won’t be out too late, will we?” Antonio asked, thinking about Arthur’s talk about not being late. Late and drunk would get him fired on the spot. Lovino sighed. </p><p>“I’ll take you somewhere for some more relaxed fun, how’s that sound?” he asked. </p><p>“Better,” Antonio muttered, blushing. Lovino nodded. </p><p>“I’m starved. Will you get me a sandwich, Amelia? And one for Emma and Tony, too?” She frowned, so he pulled a folded five out of his pocket and tossed it to her. “You can keep the change.” Antonio stared. Amelia snatched it and hurried away to the counter. Antonio couldn’t imagine handing out five dollars like that. </p><p>The sandwiches were good, to his surprise. Emma and Lovino wolfed down their lunch while he ate slowly, watching Los Angeles go by outside the windows. </p><p>“Who’s Anneliese Edelstein?” he eventually asked. </p><p>“How do you know about her?” Lovino asked. Antonio explained. “Oh, yeah. It makes sense that she would have gotten a role, she’s in a preeny mood. And I don’t know that I’d call her a <em> bitch</em>, she’s just overly particular. I worked with her once, and she always wanted things just so. It slowed production down and irritated everyone.” </p><p>“Then why don’t they pick someone else?” Antonio asked.</p><p>“Same reason Lovino stays in business: because she’s pretty. If people got fired for being difficult he would have been sent off set packing on the fourth day,” Emma said. Lovino looked irritated, but didn’t argue. Instead he angrily dipped a French fry into some tartar sauce and munched it with rancor. He finished his food and then stood up.</p><p>“Come on, Tony,” he said. Antonio got up.</p><p>“Where are we going?” he asked, lowering his voice. Lovino looked at him.</p><p>“Where do you think?” Antonio blushed and followed him out the door. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Antonio got to the studio two hours early, intent on not being late. He stayed by the stage doors, watching the rest of the cast drift in. They all carried an air or prestige, even those who had never been in a picture before. Antonio felt like an imposter toeing a very fine line, just waiting for the moment when he would be revealed. Conversation with them was too much for him, so he broke away and he chatted with the intern passing out disposable cups of espresso. </p><p>Her conversation soothed him some, but also reminded him of the drastic shifting of worlds he had undergone in a little over a day. Thinking about it confused his footing yet again, and when she left him, he was stranded alone on unstable ground. </p><p>“Hello! Are you Tony? The one Lovino dragged in?” Antonio was surprised by the man who came up to him; he was less put-together than the others, both in his clothes and his expression. His pale hair was cropped short and wasn’t oiled or pushed back, his collar buttons undone. He comforted Antonio, who held out a hand. He shook it in both of his. </p><p>“Hello,” Antonio said.</p><p>“Gilbert Beilschmidt, nice to meet you,” he said. </p><p>“Likewise,” Antonio replied, smiling weakly. “I’m Tony Carriedo.” Using the nickname increased the feeling that he was some unskilled con man. Then again, Gilbert made him feel the slightest but better, as he didn’t share the subtle or stark self-righteousness. He also wasn’t attempting a clumsy Transatlantic accent, something Antonio was finding somewhat more common than expected. </p><p>“Anneliese.” The woman beside Gilbert didn’t offer her hand, as she was in the midst of lighting a cigarette, a black one with gold foil at the end. Emma was right—she was pretty, her dark hair done in the loose Hollywood curls, diamonds glittering at her throat. Antonio had no way of knowing if they were real, but for her to be wearing them they had to be. </p><p>Admittedly the sight of her made him blush. The last time a woman had made his skin crawl like this had happened too long ago for him to remember. </p><p>She looked him up and down once, seeming nothing but disappointed. There was an ambience of perpetual letdown about her, one that sunk against him when he sat down beside her during the reading.</p><p>Yet Antonio found her respectable. Her arrogance surpassed that of the others; she felt so strongly these people were beneath her she didn’t bother trying to prove it. By no means did Antonio find it endearing, but her level-headed attitude and occasional disgusted looks at Gilbert reminded him of Lovino. The private sneer with which she looked at the world was the same one as his, which only made Antonio more attracted to her. </p><p>Lovino, who had let him stay the night at his apartment. They had talked a bit, and Antonio had been surprised by how they got along. He could never imagine himself being friends with Lovino, as he wasn’t the type of person you could be friends with. You had to adore him. Fall to your knees for him. He was Hollywood itself, all of Los Angeles, more than the streets or the sunburnt hills or Paramount Studios would ever be. </p><p>But beneath the incarnation of Angeles, there had to be someone. Perhaps that intrigue was why Antonio had been so tempted to tell Lovino to end their liaisons, knowing he would go developing some attachment and get hurt. Casual arrangements had never worked out well for him because of things like that. The fact Lovino was probably with seven other people didn’t help that. </p><p>But they weren’t the ones sleeping in Lovino’s bed. So what if he fucked them against a wall in his free time? He got Antonio a job and let him stay over. That had to mean something.</p><p>Antonio slid his heel against his ankle hard. This was exactly the type of thinking he needed to avoid. There was nothing between him and Lovino but albeit terrific sex and an awkward… friendship? Nothing he should worry about now, in any event. </p><p>Despite it being a shorter script, it was late evening when the reading finished. The sun was beginning to fall from its peak in the sky, leaving the light full and copper and low on the asphalt and palm trees. Anneliese was leaning against one of them, fixing her lipstick. </p><p>“Not bad. Knew you wouldn’t be if Lovino liked you. He’s so hard to please,” Gilbert said. </p><p>“Oh, not really,” Antonio said distractedly. “I mean, ha, yes, he seems like it.” He cleared his throat. </p><p>“He is. I pity whoever has to work with him.” Gilbert shook his head. “So, tell us about yourself.” </p><p>“Well, I just moved to LA,” Antonio began. </p><p>“I knew that,” Gilbert said. “You don’t have any defining features of a Los Angelite, nevermind a Hollywood local. But don’t worry, we’ll rub the filth of the city all over you soon enough, and you’ll never get clean.” </p><p>“<em>You </em>will,” Anneliese mumbled behind another cigarette. “You know my policy about gallivanting around with you. Always gets me in trouble,” she grumbled. Gilbert snickered and tossed an arm over her shoulder, pulling her against him. </p><p>“As you can tell, Annie adores me, possibly more than the major populace,” he said. She yanked away from him.</p><p>“I told you not to call me that,” she snapped. </p><p>“So sorry, Your Highness.” Gilbert turned to Antonio while she fixed her hair, glaring at him. “But back to you.” Gilbert clapped Antonio on the shoulders. “We’re gonna get you <em> wrecked</em>, Tony. Time for you to begin your descent into alcohol, drugs you’ve never heard of, and rampant sex with people you’ll never see again.”</p><p>Antonio smiled, but it was hesitant. The flashy faroff lifestyle of celebrities was a fantasy Antonio enjoyed from a distance solely because he never imagined living it. Now that he had the chance, though, he wasn’t sure. But Gilbert and Lovino and Emma had all said the same thing and being movie stars, they had to know a thing or two about fun. </p><p>“I can’t wait,” Antonio said, putting his hands on Gilbert’s shoulders. Gilbert laughed. </p><p>“You don’t have to!” Gilbert slapped the tops of Antonio’s shoulders and grinned, turning towards the car park. “We’re going to The Rose tonight, come with us.”</p><p>“Sure,” Antonio said. He may as well; they started filming on Monday, so he would have the weekend to recover. He was ready to surrender himself to Los Angeles, whoever it offered him and whatever those people did with him. </p><p>“But I’ve got to do something first. I’ll be fast.” Antonio turned away and hurried over to Studio 3, which was just across the car park, to where Lovino’s dressing room was. He was puffing a bit when he arrived, greeted by an irate man guarding the door. </p><p>“Hi,” Antonio said. “I’m Tony Carriedo, I wanted to talk to Lovino quickly.” </p><p>“How do you know him?” he asked, squinting. </p><p>“We’re… acquainted,” Antonio said. </p><p>“He wants privacy right now. No visitors.” Antonio’s heart sank. He had really wanted to see Lovino and thank him again, maybe start a boring conversation about the script and ask if he would accompany them to The Rose. </p><p>“Just ask him, please,” Antonio insisted. He sighed and opened the door. Antonio felt another twist in his gut when he saw that Emma was sitting on the trunk beside him in what had to be one of his robes, drinking rosé. The man asked if Lovino would allow this “Tony character” in. </p><p>“Him? I don’t have time for him,” Lovino said, flicking his wrist. Before Antonio had time to be devastated, Emma swatted him on the head.</p><p>“I’m starting to think you’re actually an ass.” She marched over to the door. “He was just complaining a second ago that you hadn’t come by even though the script reading was done. Come in, Tony. And get out of here, Bruce,” she added to the man, who backed away. Emma grabbed his hand and pulled him inside while Antonio enjoyed the knowledge that Lovino had wanted to see him. </p><p>“I was not complaining. I was <em> observing</em>,” Lovino said. </p><p>“Well, sometimes you gripe so much everything you say sounds like complaining,” Emma said. She kicked the door shut. Lovino glared at the floor and Emma hurried over to toss her arms over his shoulders. “Don’t be so upset,” she went on, rubbing her cheek on his hair. </p><p>Antonio glanced at the robe again, which Lovino noticed. “No, you didn’t interrupt anything. She just likes wearing my robes, because they’re more comfortable. I would hope they are, seeing as they’re from Paris.” Emma hummed happily and buried her face in the collar, perching on his dressing table. “She would never sleep with me, she’s so sure I would get her sick.” </p><p>“I am completely justified to think that. You had two clap scares last year and I was the one you panicked to,” Emma said. </p><p>“Hey,” Lovino snapped, glancing at Antonio. “You know I’m clean. I’m very careful.” Emma waved it off and started back on her wine. </p><p>“Amelia thinks you two are…” Antonio inclined his head. </p><p>“That’s because Amelia thinks I’ve screwed everyone I’ve ever seen. I’ve got taste though, my God.” He sighed. “Anyway, what did you want?” </p><p>“Just… to thank you again.” </p><p>“And come around for a celebratory drink?” Emma suggested. </p><p>“I would, but I agreed to go to The Rose with Gilbert and Anneliese.” Lovino pretended to vomit and dodged another swat from Emma. “Would you two want to come with?” Antonio looked at Lovino, but he shook his head. </p><p>“No. I would rather put out a cigarette on my eye than spend my free time with Gilbert Beilschmidt, especially since he’ll probably bring that pervert Francis around.” Lovino shook his head. “I do look forward to seeing what a wreck that place will make you.” Antonio rolled his eyes. Emma giggled a bit. “Em, let’s place bets now, what do you think is most likely—”</p><p>“I can handle my drinks better than you,” Antonio interrupted. Lovino leaned back and shrugged. </p><p>“Okay,” Lovino said in a derisive tone. “I look forward to seeing your horrified face in the morning when you realize what you’ve done.” Antonio huffed and turned away, offering a rushed goodbye before running back across the Studio to where Anneliese and Gilbert were waiting. </p><p>Before he knew what was happening Gilbert had dragged him to the parking lot and he was sitting in the back of a car belonging to someone named Francis Bonnefoy. He cranked the window down and turned his face to the wind coming in the open window, enjoying the smell of the sea air and laughing at Gilbert and Francis’s petty fighting up front. He liked their loud boisterousness; they reminded him of his friends back in Mexico. </p><p>Anneliese sat beside him, complaining about the noise. Halfway through the trip she slipped a flask from her bag and took a long drink. Antonio began to wonder if everyone he was going to meet here was threatening alcoholism. </p><p>The Rose was in Santa Monica, very near the beach. Antonio thought he could hear the waves from the Pacific when he hopped out of the car. He leaned against the closed doors and looked up at the dark night sky, inhaling the humidity and the ocean. </p><p>“Let me go first, or they aren’t going to let him in,” Anneliese said as they started for the door. There was a man standing there, smoking a cigar and looking bored. He perked up when he saw Anneliese. “Hello,” she said. </p><p>“Hello, Ms. Edelstein,” he replied. </p><p>“This is Tony Carriedo, he’s staring in a picture with me.” </p><p>“Oh, are you in another?” he asked. She nodded. “Let me know when it hits the theatres, I’ll be the first one in line.” </p><p>“Hmm. Let us by,” she said. He nodded and opened the door. </p><p>The interior of The Rose was an assault on his senses like he had never known. Everything churned and spun with strident jazz, the air hot and stagnant from the crowd and perfumed with alcohol and sweat. Before he could get used to one thing something changed wildly and unexpectedly, giving his mind a loose handle on the layout or the people or anything other than the flow of melody and movement around him. </p><p>In the darkness he blindly pulled the Fool from the deck, the card upside down in his palm. </p><p>“Come on!” Gilbert called, gesturing to him. He sat Antonio down at a table, waiting for Francis to return from the bar. He brought them shots of something Antonio had never tried in his life and doubted he would ever know the name of. One of them was enough to get him the slightest bit tipsy. </p><p>“What is the alcohol content in these?” he yelled. </p><p>“Better if you don’t know!” Francis yelled back. Antonio shrugged. He was here to have a good time, after all, so he drank a second and then a third. Gilbert laughed and chided him, but Antonio didn’t hear it. </p><p>His blood got hot in his veins and his heartbeat kicked up. He wanted to move. He wanted to <em> dance</em>. In reality he could not have been all that drunk—he had never been near a lightweight—but the whole place was a placebo strengthened by the fact he had no idea how much alcohol he had ingested. </p><p>Pushing his chair back, Antonio hurried off towards the cleared space on the marbled floor where everyone was dancing. </p><p>“Better go after him. Make sure he doesn’t hurt himself,” Gilbert said to Francis. “And behave.” </p><p>“Aw, Gilbert, I always do,” Francis replied, fighting his way over to Antonio. He was laughing so hard he couldn’t breathe and everything was fraying and fading around the edges. Or maybe that was the drinks.</p><p>“Francis!” Antonio said, staggering upright. “You are a <em> horrible </em>dancer!” he dissolved into laughter again. Francis glared at him. </p><p>“Well, I <em> highly </em>disagree.” Antonio didn’t respond, absorbed back into the music and motion. Gilbert came over and offered another glass to Antonio, staring with some amount of respect when he downed it in one gulp and dropped it on a table at the edge of the neighboring dance floor. </p><p>“Hey!” he snapped his fingers at Francis. “Listen…” he closed his eyes and began inventing a series of wild lyrics to accompany the music. Gilbert and Francis egged him on and Antonio kept going, even though he had no idea what he was saying. He wasn’t sure if he was speaking English or Spanish or neither. </p><p>Antonio kept telling himself he needed to stop drinking as the night went on, all disjointed and too much. But he didn’t. He lost Gilbert and Francis, though for how long he couldn’t have ventured a guess. </p><p>Eventually Gilbert snatched him away from the crowd and ordered him to help find Anneliese. Antonio nodded, doing one more shot for some good luck and then beginning the search. Finally having struck his limit, he was gripped by the urge to vomit and forwent looking to bolt into the bathroom, where he was sick four times. After reconciling his sins with the toilet he tripped his way to the sink to wash his mouth out. </p><p>Anneliese was at the sink beside him, trying to remedy her ruined mascara. Antonio jumped up, flecks of water smudging his shirt.</p><p>“Found you!” he cried. She paused and glanced over at him, attempting to put her mascara and the wand back into her purse but dropping them in the sink. She tried again and then returned to glaring at him, a little off-kilter as she stalked over. </p><p>“What are you talking about?” she snapped. </p><p>“Gilbert wanted me to look for you, and I found you, so that means next round’s on him,” Antonio said. </p><p>“Don’t let him buy you another, you’re drunk off your ass,” she said, poking him hard in the sternum. It hurt and he winced. </p><p>“So are you!” He poked her back. She grabbed his wrist. </p><p>Antonio wouldn’t remember how this led to him kissing her against the cold tiled wall, or having a hand down her dress. He didn’t even know in the moment. Was he kissing her at all? His mind was so murky there was no longer that divide between the real world and his thoughts. They spilled over into reality and blurred the line until there was nothing left of it, fact and fiction merging.</p><p>Anneliese might have taken him out of the bathroom, dragged him upstairs, or downstairs, or somewhere that only existed in a corner of The Rose at that moment and would never exist again. </p><p>“Come to my dressing room tomorrow, will you?” Anneliese asked. Where were they? What was he doing? “Will you, Tony?” </p><p>“Yes,” he gasped. Or maybe he had only thought it, he wasn’t sure. His breath hitched. His stomach was hot and his thighs were sore and his forehead was starting to hurt. Too much. He closed his eyes and wished he hadn’t. Without his sight the sense of oblivion overtook him and he dropped down through the night, collapsing at the bottom of the sky with nothing to the reach for. </p>
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<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Antonio attempted wiggling his fingers when his consciousness came back to him, considering it the safest possible movement. He felt carpet beneath them, and cold, grainy wood. Now he should try to open his eyes, though when he did his vision felt off because reality had still not regained its footing from the night before. Due to that, it was several minutes before Antonio realized he was beneath a coffee table. There was no coffee table in his cupboard-sized apartment. </p><p>This lead his staggering mind to the conclusion that he was not in his apartment. Antonio eased his head from out under the coffee table, which made him wince and required several seconds recuperation before he could look around. Francis was asleep on the adjoining couch with his shoes still on, Gilbert sprawled across the armchair opposite with his shirt off and hat over his face. </p><p>Maybe it was one of their place’s. Antonio moved from out under the table, but even with his caution he was taken over by the urge to vomit and jumped up. Not knowing where the bathroom was, he ended up running to a potted plant by the window and throwing up there. He clutched at the sides of the pot, trying to catch his breath but then being sick again. This was why he hated getting drunk. </p><p>Once he was certain he wouldn’t vomit again, he wiped his mouth off on a leaf and formulated a proper apology to both the plant and whoever owned it. He had woken Gilbert up, judging by the groaning behind him.</p><p>“Where are we?” Antonio asked. Gilbert tried to grin.</p><p>“Don’t seem so terrified. We’re at Francis’s place,” he explained. </p><p>“Where’s Anneliese?” </p><p>“Her house. Her friend Elizabeta is real protective over her and she showed up while we were looking for you, so Annie probably went home with her. Or a stranger, it’s not my business,” he said with a forced shrug. Antonio smiled a bit, about to give in to some childish teasing about whether he liked her when Gilbert said, “Elizabeta looked so pissed when she saw you two screwing in the closet. It was hilarious.” </p><p>“<em>What</em>?” Antonio rasped. “I had sex with her?” Francis nodded. “Oh no… I’ve got to apologize, she was so drunk, she didn’t know what she was doing.” Francis laughed.</p><p>“She knew exactly what she was doing,” he said. He adjusted himself in the chair and smiled at Antonio’s shocked expression. “I’ve known her three years, darling. Her evening plans consist entirely of going to The Rose, getting drunk, and going after some unsuspecting man like you,” Francis said. “I’m sure you won’t believe me, because she’s got the reputation of <em> I went to finishing school in Vienna and play the piano for fun and wear custom dresses and only drink lemon water</em>. She’s always hot-to-trot, believe me.” </p><p>Now Antonio started panicking. He hadn’t had prophylactics, he could have contracted a disease, or worse, gotten her pregnant. While he went though the five stages of grief over this idea Francis complained about his plant, giving Antonio a fresh wave of guilt and renewed apologies. </p><p>“Don’t worry, Lena will take care of it. My maid,” he explained. That didn’t make Antonio feel any better. </p><p>“I should be getting home,” he said. “If you wouldn’t mind telling me where we are?” Francis helped him get directions back to his apartment and Antonio set out, passing near the studio. Lovino was on a street corner, perhaps heading out for lunch. At first Antonio couldn’t see him through the shuffling huddle of his admirers from his place beside a stationary shop, his hands in his pockets. </p><p>One of the girls stood on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. Antonio wondered if he enjoyed having strangers kiss him and put their hands all over him. </p><p>Perhaps he felt Antonio’s eyes on him, because he looked up and caught sight of him. He waved him over. Antonio shook his head, giving a nod to the crowd. </p><p>Lovino sighed and said something to them, turning towards Antonio. Someone else grabbed his wrist, taking his hand and clutching it to her chest. Lovino was calm as he took his hand back and made his way over to Antonio, hurrying them down the street to get away. Antonio didn’t know how he managed to keep his stomach settled with all the zigging and zagging. </p><p>They ended up in a hollow alleyway several meters away. “Homey,” Antonio noted, looking around. </p><p>“Which part?” </p><p>“I can’t decide between the piss or the vomit. Or… is that blood? I guess it adds some flair,” Antonio said. </p><p>“You’re batshit,” Lovino said. “And you look like it. What in God’s name did you do to make your hair look like that?” He laughed. “I’ll get in touch with the Vatican and see what can be done about making that a new sin. It would be a nice change of pace.” </p><p>“<em>Thank you </em> for pointing out the main problem of Catholicism,” Antonio said. “I’ve been telling the priests in Guanajuato for ages, more people would come to the Church if they did some rearranging.” Lovino had the smallest hint of a smile as he scrutinized Antonio. </p><p>“See, I was making fun of you just then. You weren’t supposed to joke back. Or I think that was a joke.” </p><p>“Don’t worry if you don’t understand humor yet. You will eventually, but it’s an art, you know. Takes time.”</p><p>Lovino raised an eyebrow, which was a bit much for Antonio. “Unbelievable, talking to the Artemisia Gentileschi of comedy.” </p><p>“She must be a real shit painter.” </p><p>“Apologize immediately,” Lovino said. “Like you mean it.” Antonio raised his eyebrows but he apologized. “You’re still a little drunk, aren’t you? You’re more entertaining like this.” </p><p>“Oh, yeah, I’m hungover as hell, so I think it’s impressive I’m carrying on this conversation and expect some congratulations for it. But this is how I always I am. In fact, I’m typically described as both a sparkling conversationalist and very fun at parties, which you wouldn’t know because you don’t do much talking to me.” </p><p>Lovino propped himself against the wall, fixing Antonio with that under-the-skin stare of his. “I suppose not. Maybe I ought to change that.” Antonio felt a light flutter of delight under his ribs at that. “Now, what happened to you at The Rose? You look like you’ve been through it. Why don’t you come back to my place, we can talk about it and… have lunch.” </p><p>“I can’t handle your apartment right now. I need to go back to the comfort of my shitty one,” Antonio insisted. </p><p>“Fine,” Lovino said. “I’m free all afternoon, though.” </p><p>“Perfect,” Antonio said, following him out of the alley. Antonio got a taxi back to his apartment. He found it miraculous he could pay for the trip and realized he had no idea how much he had spent last night. </p><p> His miniature bedroom was a haven, and he collapsed on the end of his bed with relief. Sighing, he pushed the window open, never before so happy to see the ragged buildings and the foul alley beneath him, or hear the angry honking of cars and cursing. He rolled over and closed his eyes, deciding he would nap and get his strength back before he went to see Lovino. </p><p>After the unhelpful nap he forced down some eggs and several glasses of water. Once the eggs made peace with his system he finished his last batch of Marcona almonds from a cousin’s farm in Spain. Feeling better, he got in his car to drive to Lovino’s. </p><p>He was out on the balcony, which naturally had a sprawling, full view of Los Angeles all the way to the ocean’s edge. Antonio wondered if he ever tired on the sight. </p><p>“Afternoon,” Lovino said, watching Antonio sit down across from him. “So, tell me about your night.” </p><p>“I’m sure you know I don’t really remember anything. They got me drunk five minutes after I walked in.” Antonio shook his head. Last night was a gauzy, unfocused dream from several years ago with only one vivid scene that he couldn’t forget. “It’s a mess. But I know I drank <em> a lot </em>, as in I’m not sure how I’m still alive, and I kissed someone, maybe two people, and apparently had sex with Anneliese in a closet.” </p><p>“That’s all?” Lovino sounded downright disappointed. Antonio didn’t know what Lovino was expecting him to say. What had <em> he </em>done the first time he had gone to The Rose? </p><p>“It’s really bothering me. I didn’t have a safety on me, what if I got her pregnant?” </p><p>“You won’t,” Lovino said. “And if you did, she knows where to go to get it taken care of.” Antonio blanched a little. “It’s not uncommon in this line of work. You can’t get far with a liability.” </p><p>“Still…” Antonio muttered. </p><p>“If it bothers you, don’t think about it,” Lovino said. “And the chances you did are so low. She’s got a diaphragm, and you don’t remember, maybe you didn’t even come. Of course you still could have gotten her pregnant but it’s a lot less likely—” Lovino saw Antonio go white all over again and decided to stop talking. </p><p>“What happened to you, the first time you went?” Antonio asked. </p><p>“Oh…” Lovino clicked his tongue and thought. “I was maybe seventeen or just turned eighteen. I went with a group of friends to celebrate me getting a part or something, so naturally I got myself unbelievably drunk. At the time my apartment—or rather somewhat elegant rat’s nest—was on the other side of town. That meant I had to take a bus to Santa Monica, but something held the return bus up so I asked some guy to drive me home. </p><p>“Turns out he was a prostitute from Santa Barbara hanging out with his prostitute friends and they were all women who wanted nothing to do with an inebriated stranger. But I must have convinced them somehow because finally they agreed to take me home if the guy sat in the back with me to make sure I didn’t cause trouble. I wouldn’t do that in the first place, but I was also too drunk to move, so there was really nothing for them to worry about.</p><p>“We ran out of gas halfway through the trip. They wouldn’t let me lurk in the car so I had to walk to the gas station with the guy, which I think happened but I’m not really sure. I remember a lot of complaining about being tired and them deciding I would have to just come back to their hotel room in Santa Monica. I would love to say that was the point where the orgy commenced, but it wasn’t.”</p><p>“Doesn’t that mean there will be an orgy in this story?” Antonio asked.</p><p>“No, not this one,” Lovino said. “Anyways, I slept on the floor. They gave me a towel as a blanket, which was a nice gesture. When I woke up I felt like shit but I found a piece of paper in my pocket that had a hotel room on it, but not for <em> that </em> hotel. </p><p>“I asked the guy to drive me to it, saying I’d given them the wrong address before. He dropped me off and I went up to the room and had the worst sex of my life with some woman I’d met the night before. Turns out she was actually the wife of one of the studio executives, which I didn’t know at the time and I promise you I would have left if I’d know she was married. </p><p>“She wouldn't drive me home, which she said was because she didn’t want to get caught. Pretty sure it was actually because she was so disappointed with my performance, but really, she should be glad I didn’t vomit on her. I eventually got another bus home, so all’s well that ends well.” </p><p>“I feel incredibly boring now,” Antonio said. </p><p>“Well, you have had your first pregnancy scare in the initial seventy-two hours. Quicker than me. And now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, this farm in Aix-en-Provence sends me <em> calissons </em>and this lovely olive oil every few months…” he trailed off as Antonio groaned. </p><p>“No, no, you aren’t about to tell me you want to use expensive French olive oil for anal. It’s too nice, let’s just use goddamn saliva.” Lovino stared at him. </p><p>“I <em> cannot </em>believe you just said that to me,” Lovino said. “In fact, I refuse to believe it. I know you think I need to be humbled but you need to learn how to enjoy luxury.” He stood up and Antonio followed him inside, a bit disappointed he had cut the conversation so short. He had to remind himself that Lovino was probably far from interested in any kind of relationship past something superficial. And that shouldn’t hurt him.</p><p> <b>_____________</b></p><p> </p><p>Antonio arrived at the studio four hours early on Monday, when the sun was still low and the sky was rosy and made the San Gabriel mountains look dark, deep pink. He thought being here ahead of time would make him less nervous, but instead he had four hours for the nervous to marinate in his stomach and get worse. He wished Francis was there to supply him a flower pot to throw up in. </p><p>He paced around his dressing room, a bare-walled place that he was sure had fifty identical renditions. It smelled like too-strong perfume, and the lights that ringed the mirror were aggressive, making him look even paler. </p><p>Two hours must have passed when there was a knock on the door. It opened and in walked Anneliese, wearing a corset and some starched skirts with a lavender dress over her arm. Antonio was shocked; he had never imagined seeing her anything but one of her hand-sewn dresses from Paris or Milan or wherever else. </p><p>“Help me with this corset, will you? Amelia was supposed to, but she’s never reliable,” she snapped, dropping the dress on Antonio’s dressing table. He nodded and stood up. She turned around, brushing her hair over her shoulder. She smelled like lilies-of-the-valley and that heat of lights. </p><p>“Were you filming?” he asked, glad for something to do. </p><p>“Yes,” she said. “Something awful set in the eighteen hundreds. It’s vile, I cannot stand acting like a lout.” Antonio nodded but didn’t say anything, only finished with the clips. He expected her to leave, but instead she kicked off the skirts and she sat down at his chair and set to taking her earrings off, then her necklace. Antonio half-sat on the edge of the dressing table, avoiding looking at her now that she was very nearly naked. Perhaps it was normal for people here to strip down in front of near strangers. </p><p>“Do you ever get anxious when you act?” Antonio asked. She shook her head. “How?” </p><p>“I’m talented,” she replied, setting her jewelry on top of her folded dress and fluffing her hair, wavy from styling. </p><p>“I’ve got talent,” Antonio retaliated, then closed his mouth, embarrassed. She looked up at him, leaning on her forearms very near to his leg. </p><p>“Then, I suppose, what you need is to relax,” Anneliese observed. </p><p>“I <em> can’t</em>,” Antonio said.</p><p>“Hm, I see.” Now she rested her forearms on his knee and smiled up at him. “Do you want me to help you, Tony?” It took him a moment to realize what she meant, and when he did, he was brought up short. His immediate response would be to politely decline, especially because above everything it would feel so disloyal to Lovino. </p><p>Disloyal to Lovino. Antonio mentally kicked himself for giving in to those types of thoughts again. He doubted he really felt anything for him anyway, it was was likely just a side effect of sleeping with him. That was all. Would the same thing happen with her? And if it did, maybe he could smother the sore want for Lovino before it turned into something he would be powerless to, and he could not afford to be any more powerless to Lovino. </p><p>So he said yes. </p><p>Anneliese smiled and leapt up on the table, wrapping a leg around his waist. Antonio drew a deep breath. Wanting to get out of his head, he made her tell him what she wanted.</p><p>But the second he didn’t have to focus on what he was doing he caved. He hadn’t given much thought to anything he had been doing in the past few days, because he had stumbled into someone else’s life and therefore expected no consequences for his actions. But this was enough to pull him out of that. He started panicking. He hadn’t bothered with condoms, <em> again</em>. He was going to end up with the clap, or she was going to get pregnant.</p><p>And she was a stranger. A complete and utter stranger. So so what if she was like Venus rising out of the sea, there was nothing but emotional dissonance between them. </p><p>Antonio pulled away from her and sunk down on his elbows. </p><p>“Why’d you stop?” she asked, panting. </p><p>“Don’t want to come in you,” Antonio breathed. </p><p>“I’ve got a pessary. I won’t get pregnant.” Antonio looked at her for another second, then dropped to his knees to use his mouth. What was he doing? He should never have said yes, he was going to send himself back into that tangle of confusion over his sexuality and Lovino and before long he would be so plagued by it all he would flee the West Coast and all its filthy promise. He shut his eyes, wishing she would get off and leave. </p><p>When she finally did she sunk back against the mirror. “Oh, Antonio,” she whispered. Antonio wished she hadn’t said his name like that. He made to stand up and she held his face in her hands. She brushed his cheekbones the slightest bit. “Where did you come from, hmm?” She smiled and hopped down to get dressed.</p><p>She slipped her necklace and earrings into the pocket, fishing a few pins out to do her hair while Antonio went on staring at the floor while he underwent his third or fourth moral crisis of the week. </p><p>“Do you feel better?” she asked, collecting her corset and skirts off the floor. Antonio considered. He didn’t feel anxious, at least, but the experience had left him both wildly confused and very unsettled. </p><p>“I’m not nervous anymore,” he settled on. </p><p>“Good,” Anneliese said. “We should do that again, that was fun.” She kissed both his cheeks and slipped out the door, leaving him staring at the floor with his trousers still undone. He zipped them hurriedly and went to wash his hands and splash water onto his face. He smelled like her perfume; lilies-of-the-valley. Something expensive, like Lovino’s cologne. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>If you aren't familiar with her, Artemisia Gentileschi was a baroque painter in Italy in mainly the 1600s</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Antonio went for a walk while he waited for Francis to show up with his costume, as it had helped back home when he had gotten nervous. He paused by one of the narrow palms and leaned against it, lighting himself a cigarette and looking up at the lightening sky above the mountains. He was a bit sleepy from waking up so early to sneak out of Lovino’s apartment to the studio, but he didn’t regret spending the night with him. </p><p>He had been somewhat encouraging in his own way, leaning on his hand while swirling the last dregs of his Prosecco. “You’ll be fine. As long as you don’t engage in your usual dumbassery, that is. Believe me.” </p><p>“What sort of ‘dumbassery’? Is that how you describe almost anything I do with Gilbert and Francis around?” Antonio asked. Lovino snapped and pointed, unable to answer because he was finishing his drink. “And I do believe you, though really I’m not sure why.” </p><p>“Why is that? I think <em> I </em> would know good acting.” </p><p>Antonio chuckled at his Prosecco. “Oh Lovino,” he mused. “Do you realize how… how you seem to someone like me? To common people?” Lovino raised an eyebrow. “You’re living like everyone wants to. Famous. Rich. Loved by all. And you’re… you’re beautiful. ” </p><p>Lovino readjusted his legs and stared at the sheets. “I doubt everyone wants to be me.” </p><p>“A lot of people do,” Antonio insisted. “I hear the way people talk about you, and so many stories. It makes me feel like I’m not even talking to a real person.” </p><p>“You wouldn’t be the first,” Lovino muttered. </p><p>“Hey.” Antonio’s hand had shaken a bit when he touched Lovino’s jaw and Lovino met his eyes. There were a few seconds of silence, and they were strained. Antonio didn’t know quite what he meant to say, but now he had all Lovino’s attention and his bated breath, he had to say something. “I… I see the way strangers are always trying to touch you, always grabbing at your clothes, your hands, your hair, and it always takes me aback because it’s like, it’s like you’re… I don’t know, a commodity.” </p><p>“My, Antonio, what a brain you’ve got. Maybe engineering is a better avenue for you after all.” Antonio frowned. “Well, you’re right. I am a commodity, and I understand that, but it does get a little tiring, all the snatching. I especially hate it when people yank my hair, and when they kiss me. Say what you will about me, but I don’t kiss anyone I see on the street. I’ve never even kissed you,” he added. </p><p>“No, you haven’t,” Antonio muttered. He swallowed, his fingers playing at the soft niche below Lovino’s jaw. Then he pulled away, afraid Lovino might start wondering why Antonio had lingered. </p><p>“All that to say, I don’t know who you are, really, but I guess I trust everyone. I think most people are good.” </p><p>“Yeah? Do you think I’m a good person?” Lovino asked. </p><p>“Why would you ask me that?” Antonio gave a slight derisive laugh. “I hardly know you.” </p><p>“Then why do you trust me?”</p><p>“Instincts,” Antonio said with a shrug. </p><p>“What else do your instincts tell you about me?” </p><p>“Why do you care so much what I think of you?” It had sounded harsher than Antonio had meant, but the way Lovino was almost needling him, as if trying to get Antonio to admit something, made him nervous. </p><p>“We should talk about logistics tomorrow,” Lovino said. He noticed Antonio shift again and pull his legs to his chest. Lovino had put a hand over Antonio’s slack fingers. “Trust me.” </p><p>Drawn back into the present by Francis calling his name, Antonio tossed his cigarette onto the concrete and stamped it out. </p><p>“Morning,” Antonio said. Francis grinned. </p><p>“I’m so excited for you!” he cried. “You should hurry on back to your dressing room and get changed,” he added, steering Antonio back towards the stage. “And I heard Elizabeta’s going to do your hair, so make sure you don’t mention what happened with Annie or she might poke your eye out with a comb.” Antonio nodded, opting to not mention what had happened forty-five minutes ago. “Anyways, best of luck to you.” </p><p>“Thank you,” Antonio said. “I appreciate it, really. I’ve been feeling so nervous.” </p><p>“Of course you have!” Francis said. “But don’t worry. It will go terrifically, and afterwards I’ll be here with the champagne to celebrate.” Antonio thanked him again. </p><p>Elizabeta turned out to be quite polite with him, which he was glad for; he had already made an enemy of Arthur. At first he felt awkward letting her style his hair, as he certainly wasn’t used to having another person do it. He didn’t mind it, though, even liked the brush of her nails on his nape and the comb teeth against his scalp.  </p><p>The warehouse-like Stage was not what he had been expecting either. It was lit and buzzing with activity, not lonesome and eerie as it had been when he first visited with Lovino. </p><p>Antonio’s heart beat so hard he got nauseous and couldn’t quite swallow, but he liked that excitement sparking off his nerves and down his body. He sank into the feeling to let it become comfortable and have the reins to his confidence. But he couldn’t quite keep his hands on it when he stepped onto the set and endured Arthur’s unforgiving directing. </p><p>Like Anneliese, he had an aura about him that the world was letting him down. Desperate to win him over, Antonio internalized that feeling which only gave him the sense he was Arthur’s greatest disappointment. When he glared too much over his steaming teacup Antonio’s cadence got clumsy and he fumbled his words. But whenever that happened Gilbert would make some wild gestures from the audience which distracted him and made him feel a bit better. He also found himself feeling incredibly grateful for Gilbert taking time out of his day to come offer some encouragement.</p><p>At the end of the day he was glad to change into his regular clothes and revel in his sense of accomplishment. While he was in the middle of flattening his hair there was a knock on the door. “Who is it?” he asked, expecting Francis and the champagne, but it was Lovino. Antonio let him in.</p><p>“Well, how did it go?” Lovino asked, perching on the table in front of him.</p><p>“Pretty well, though Mr. Kirkland scares me.”</p><p>“You have no reason to be scared of him. He’s old and cantankerous because his life has so little purpose.” Antonio raised his eyebrows in slight disbelief. </p><p>“That’s harsh,” he muttered.</p><p>“It’s the truth,” Lovino said. “Add that to your consideration over if I’m a good person or not.” </p><p>“Are you still thinking about that?” Antonio asked. “Let it go. Yes, I think you’re a good person.”</p><p>“No, you can’t say it now and make me believe you. Not when you just said it to appease me.” Antonio shook his head. “And besides, you said you hardly feel like you’re speaking to a person when you talk to me.” It was an offhand comment, but Antonio doubted he would have brought it up if it didn’t bother him. </p><p>“I told you I don’t really think that.” Lovino shrugged. “But how can you blame me? You’re too charming, some of that has to be acting.” </p><p>“Did it ever occur to you that some people have natural charm? Just because you’re so lacking in it—” </p><p>“Fine, but what do you call all this?” Antonio asked, gesturing to him. “No one sits like that! Your back is too straight, your chin’s raised, your shoulders are so far down. You’re trying to look… I don’t know, important.”</p><p>“I believe I just have good posture.” </p><p>“Your shoulders don’t need to be that far down for good posture,” Antonio said. “You don’t always need to put on a show, especially not for me.” Lovino considered and then relaxed the slightest bit, so slight Antonio didn’t notice. </p><p>“Why not you?” </p><p>“Because I have been<em> inside </em> you,” Antonio said. He was surprised that got a soft chuckle out of Lovino. “Ugh, I’m so sore, <em> why </em> am I sore?” he asked, rolling his shoulders back. Lovino was delighted at the opportunity to make fun of his posture, laughing again when Antonio frowned at him. “You know, Emma’s right. You might actually be a dick.” </p><p>“I probably am,” Lovino said, inching a bit closer to Antonio. “Certainly no Fitzwilliam.”</p><p>Antonio leaned on his forearms, tilting his face up to Lovino’s. “I assume that means you’re just an asshole, since I don’t know who ‘Fitzwilliam’ is.” Lovino shook his head, informing him that it was Mr. Darcy’s first name. “No one calls Mr. Darcy <em> Fitzwilliam</em>. We call him ‘Mr. Darcy.’ Not only are you an asshole, you’re also pretentious.” </p><p>“Is it pretentious to be intelligent?” </p><p>“When you say things like that, yes,” Antonio said. “And if you’re so intelligent, why am I in so much pain?” Lovino scrutinized him again.</p><p>“You’re probably holding yourself too stiff.” Lovino went to stand behind him, pressing his fingertips to his traps. “Don’t you ever stretch?” he asked. Antonio shook his head. “Well, there’s yet another problem with you,” he muttered, rolling the heels of his hands against Antonio’s shoulders. He exhaled and dropped his chin to his chest. </p><p>“Did you like it?” he asked. Antonio gave a low <em> hmm</em>? “Being on set.” Antonio nodded as he smiled at the floor, closing his eyes. “Good.” His voice was soft, low and rich like claret velvet, warming the chill his touch left down Antonio’s spine. </p><p>“Relax your face,” he muttered in that same velour voice, one that truly could make him drunk. “Your jaw is so tense,” he added, tracing his pointer finger along it. “Breathe out.” Antonio did. “One more time.” Antonio exhaled again. His breathing was shallower than it should have been with Lovino so close to his face, close enough to feel the heat off his flushed cheeks. </p><p>“That’s better,” Lovino said. He touched his chin to Antonio’s shoulder, his hands now moving down his arms in that careless, lovely way. “This is a stressful trade, you’ve got to learn how to unwind.” Antonio laughed, and it was breathier and higher than it usually was. </p><p>“Don’t you just drink?” </p><p>“Yes, but I know that’s not your style,” Lovino said. He kissed Antonio on the shoulder, at the spot beside the hem of his shirt. His lips were charmeuse against his skin, warm, and Antonio felt the soft edge of Lovino’s breath when he pulled away. Lovino stilled his hands, staring at Antonio’s nape with a distant sense of shock. He felt his heart squeeze in his chest and forced himself to take a deep breath. </p><p>Antonio opened his eyes, thinking back to what Lovino had said the night before. He wished Lovino would kiss him again. But not on the shoulder. It gnawed at him, the need to kiss Lovino, but he resisted acting on it now. He still wasn’t sure if he liked Lovino, or if Lovino liked him. But this was Los Angeles. This was the place to take chances.</p><p>“Does your head hurt? Those lights always give me a headache, even now,” Lovino said. Antonio nodded. “Where?” </p><p>“The middle. Above my nose.” Lovino pulled his hands back up Antonio’s arms and pressed his thumbs to the point. Antonio closed his eyes again and lay back against Lovino’s chest, feeling the soothing rise and fall of his breathing. Antonio should say something now, but what should it be? </p><p>He was still lost in consideration when the door burst open and in came Francis and Gilbert, making Lovino twist away. </p><p>“Congratulations, Tony!” Gilbert cried, ruffling his hair. Antonio spluttered and attempted to shove him off, but then Francis threw his arms around his shoulders and he was fully trapped. In the chaos, Lovino was gone. </p><p>Antonio declined their invitation to The Rose, intending to wake up clear-headed. But he didn’t say no the following day and spent the night beside the ocean, getting himself far too drunk all over again. Over the following months he would train himself on how to sense the very edge of drunkness so he wouldn’t go over the edge and could keep his wits when working. Even with his caution, though, there were still times he woke up somewhere he didn’t recognize or he stayed out too late with Lovino.</p><p>Los Angeles had her hands in his and was pulling him down under the unfamiliar, into all that was too much, keeping his head under until he had to gasp for air. Then it got into his lungs and into his heart and then his blood, it was part of him, this sinful, spinning, tumbling city. </p><p>There was no dream to wake up from. This was reality. </p><p>When November came he finally bought himself a better apartment, one where he could have Francis and Gilbert over or host little parties when the mood struck him. It was nowhere near the majesty of Lovino’s, but had a decent vista of West Hollywood where Antonio liked the lounge in the sun. Sometimes he would stare up at the sky, pretending the world was his, something he was truly beginning to believe. </p><p>Today Gilbert was on the chair beside him, smoking a cigarette and telling him about a particular endeavor with Anneliese, who Antonio had listened to endless similar stories about punctuated with Gilbert’s panicking about not admitting he had feelings for her. Everytime Antonio offered advice he was really just berating himself for still not having admitted his own to Lovino. </p><p>Gilbert was in the middle of a particularly concerning moment when the balcony door swung and Francis tripped out. </p><p>“Francis,” Antonio groaned. “We were just getting to the good part.”</p><p>“Impossible. All of Gilbert’s sex stories are boring,” Francis said. </p><p>“It’s about Annie again,” Antonio contradicted. “You know how Gilbert feels about her.” He grinned at Gilbert, who blushed and cleared his throat.</p><p>“Yes, well, this is far more exciting and important. Pour me a drink, Tony, we’ve got to celebrate!” Antonio pushed his sunglasses up and squinted at him. “That design firm in France saw my costumes in that Canadian flick and they’ve invited me to Paris to study at their university!”</p><p>“What? That’s amazing!” Gilbert said. “Get us some beers, Tony! Oh, sorry, wine for the sir.” Antonio grinned and nodded, hurrying into the kitchen and pouring three glasses of San Fernando, which spilled on his shirt a little as he bolted back onto the balcony. He tossed Gilbert a Ballantine, which he caught and raised. </p><p>“To Francis!” He opened it and took a long sip. Antonio and Francis copied him. </p><p>“You’ll be designing gowns for Queen Elizabeth by the time I finish this picture,” Antonio said. Francis beamed. </p><p>“Why, of course,” he said, gesturing with his wine glass. “And Her Majesty will be remembered as the most wonderfully dressed of all the British monarchs.” </p><p>“Hell yes she will!” Gilbert said, taking another swig of beer. Francis sighed and smiled, sipping his wine with delicacy. They spent the rest of the evening discussing sun-drenched dreams of Paris, of the rose vines up the walls of the old intricate buildings that lined those venerable Parisian streets. </p><p>It was late evening when Gilbert interrupted the conversation, asking if the doorbell had just rung. “I’ll look,” Antonio offered. He went to the door, opening it to reveal Lovino with his hands in his pockets. Antonio blushed and gripped the doorframe, trying to remember if he had made plans with Lovino that evening. </p><p>“Lovino! What a pleasant surprise,” he tried. Lovino frowned and drew his brows together. </p><p>“Shouldn’t be. You asked me to come by tonight.” Antonio laughed awkwardly. It worsened as Francis called from the balcony, asking who was at the door. Lovino’s expression darkened. </p><p>“Right, I see you’re occupied. I’ll come back later.” Antonio gave a fervent head shake. </p><p>“No,” he said. “I’ll get rid of them.” He returned to the balcony, lamenting how he had forgotten he needed to practice a scene with Lovino. After some light shoving he got them out the door, allowing Lovino to emerge from his hiding spot in the bathroom and settle on the couch. </p><p>“You’ve never forgotten about plans before,” he noted. Antonio shrugged it off, collapsing beside him with a sigh. In that moment he realized how absolutely exhausted he had been and sighed, running his hands through his hair. </p><p>“What’s going on with you?” Lovino asked. He pushed a bit of Antonio’s hair back into place. “Don’t fuck yourself up.” </p><p>Antonio turned to face him. Lovino’s fingertips were still on his temple. “What? I’m not.” </p><p>“You are so full of shit,” Lovino said, searching Antonio’s eyes. “Can you honestly tell me you’re still enjoying yourself?” Antonio opened his mouth but only stared back at Lovino, unable to find an answer. He felt the pressure off his hands as the city let go, and he was left without that gaudiness, and glamour. It was only himself and Lovino, whose hands he reached for so he could be pulled up and take in oxygen again. Antonio drew a deep breath, no longer drowned in Los Angeles. </p><p>“I don’t know. When I’m with you, at least.” Lovino blinked. Antonio reached up and took Lovino’s hand, curling his fingers through Lovino’s. He leaned closer, feeling Lovino’s breath on his lower lip, then leaned forward and kissed him. </p><p>He had felt Lovino’s mouth almost everywhere but his own, and perhaps that was why he burned for it so badly. And by God did Lovino knew how to kiss. Antonio felt if he had lived his whole life without this kiss he would have lived it only in half. </p><p>For a moment all the questions that would come out of this kiss stung Antonio’s thoughts, and that sting turned bitter at how difficult it was to say the simple words <em> I like you</em>. </p><p>Lovino pulled away. “What was that all about, hmm?” he asked. Antonio’s hand was on his cheek, his thumb drifting to Lovino’s lower lip, warm from his own mouth. </p><p>“Lovino, I… I really like you,” Antonio whispered. “As in, more than a friend. Or, whatever our relationship is.” He cast his eyes down, horrified at his own words, too afraid to heart Lovino’s reaction.</p><p>“I know, Antonio,” Lovino said. Antonio felt the shape of his words under his fingertip. “Look at me.” Antonio did. Lovino held Antonio’s jaw lightly, searching his eyes. "I might like you too. Haven't decided." </p><p>"What... what does that mean?" he asked. Lovino shrugged and just kissed him again, but it was not nearly as sweet. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Antonio spent the entirety of Saturday filming, and when he wearily made the journey home Lovino snuck back to his apartment. He went to shower while Lovino organized his records, turning the heat up until he cheeks got hot and he sensed delirium. Switching the water off, he soaked in the hot steam for several minutes, breathing a low sigh before drying off and getting dressed. </p><p>He collapsed on his bed beside Lovino, who was flipping through one of the Vogue magazines Francis had left behind. </p><p>“I can’t remember the last time I came home and just took a shower and went to bed,” he murmured, closing his eyes. </p><p>“I wish you would’ve told me that was your plan from the start,” Lovino noted. The ends of Antonio’s hair were wet, chilly drops making tickling tracks down his neck and soaking into the collar of his shirt. With a rustle of the covers Lovino leaned forward and wiped the water away with his sleeve. </p><p>“You don’t just want to be around when I feel like fucking you, do you?” </p><p>Lovino laughed. “Of course not. You’re not <em> that </em> good.” Antonio gave a sad sigh and buried his face back in the blankets. “<em>Tsk </em>, you’ve got to learn I mean very little of what I say.” Antonio turned his cheek to look up at him. “And that I do mean,” he promised, brushing Antonio’s wet hair off his temples and then laying down across from him. </p><p>“You’ve been up to a lot recently, haven’t you?” he went on, voice yet more velvety muffled in the pillows and sheets. Antonio nodded, taking in all the fine details of his face, lovely and delicate as peony petals. </p><p>“I love it here,” he whispered. “I love being on set, in the lights, and all the people I’ve met, even the excessiveness, it’s all so…” he trailed off, unable to find a proper word for it all. Lovino didn’t need him to. “But it gets tiring when you stay up so late and get up so early,” Antonio said with a breathless chuckle. Lovino nodded, propping himself up on his elbow and taking his hand back. </p><p>Antonio sighed. “Where should we go for a date? Is there anywhere private enough? Maybe the opera. I hate the opera, but you have so many records, I figure you love it.” Lovino drew his shoulders up some. </p><p>“Love is overdoing it. I <em> appreciate </em> it,” he said. “Most of them are my father’s. I just listen to them sometimes to help remember my Italian, since I haven’t spoken it much since leaving New York.” </p><p>“You speak Italian?” Lovino nodded. </p><p>“I’m from Italy,” he said. “I assumed you guessed by my name..” Antonio shrugged, muttering something about having thought his family was. He was so sleepy that the conversation had taken on a distant feel and he was not completely present in it. “My family is from Sicily. We had an orchard. Grew lemons and oranges. If the citrus boy saw my apartment he would think he’d been called to court in an imperial palace.” </p><p>“That’s a bit how I felt when I saw it,” Antonio muttered. </p><p>“My father brought me and my brother over when I was twelve. I try not to publicize it, for the sake of my career. I don’t think a great deal of people would be happy if their star turned out to be a wop.” He bit his thumbnail and sighed. “I gave up my citizenship, anyhow, back when the war first started.” </p><p>Antonio opened his eyes. “Why?” He frowned. “What if you move back when you’re older?”</p><p>“I won’t,” Lovino said with a conviction that told Antonio not to press him about it. </p><p>“You know, I find it funny you used to live in the country. You seem like a trueborn Los Angelite, I can’t even picture you anywhere but right here in California.”</p><p>“Well, I’m not,” Lovino said, and there were chilled bitters in his voice. “Not even an American. I know that seems unimportant to you, but you would get it if people knew you were from Mexico. Then again, they might not care since your family is Spanish, and European Hispanics are oh so much cleaner.” Antonio sat up, unsettled by the cold sarcasm in his voice. </p><p>“What do you mean?” Antonio asked. Lovino sat up and slipped his silver cigarette case out of his pocket, lighting one and tossing them on the bedspread. </p><p>“I mean America considers the colonizer that much better than the colonized. <em> Cleaner </em>. Granted, I can’t get mad because I practically lived in the dirt in Sicily, but at the end of the day, I’m still European, and so are you. We can’t really complain.” Lovino stared at the smoke curling from the end of his cigarette. </p><p>“Have you been to La Placita?” Antonio nodded, and Lovino sighed smoke out his nose. “I thought you might have. They raided that place back in ‘31. This costume designer I know, María José Aguilar, her brother was there that day. He had come to LA to be an actor, same as pretty much everyone else. He was there when the police showed up and shoved everyone into vans. Four-hundred arrested and deported to Mexico, even those who were born in the right here in the United States. </p><p>“Her brother got away. Some cops caught him. He told them he had come here legally, and he had, even had his papers on him. He took them out. They thought he was reaching for a gun, and they shot him to death on the spot. María says he had six gunshot wounds, but she doesn’t really know because her family never got to see his body. They only heard about his death because of the news.” </p><p>“<em>Christ</em>,” Antonio muttered. Lovino tapped his cigarette. </p><p>“I worked with her, María, my second year here. She did all my costumes for this one picture, and I was damn lucky, because she is a real artist when it comes to costume design and aesthetics. The papers practically bled praise for her, but all that stopped when they found out their Maria was an immigrant. She’s never been promoted, despite how talented she is. Still at the bottom seven years later.” </p><p>Antonio stared at his hands, taking a shaky drag from his cigarette. He felt sick and picked up the case and got himself a cigarette. </p><p>“Help yourself,” Lovino said in a deadpan. Antonio nodded. “I didn’t mean to upset you,” Lovino murmured. “But you want to live here, you have to know the truth.” </p><p>“No, I’ll be fine. I’m glad you told me,” Antonio said. “I’ve never lived in America before, so I appreciate having you here, especially since you weren’t born here, so you probably know how odd it is to move countries.” Lovino nodded. “All that aside, you might still go back. Italy is beautiful. My parents got married there, I’ve seen the photos.” Lovino shook his head. </p><p>“I have no interest in going back, especially now. I don’t think I’d get along terribly well with the resident fascists. If I’m desperate for a taste of Sicily, I’ll just go hole up with the mafia for a night or two.” Antonio nodded and Lovino sighed. “My God, did you think I was serious? Oh come on, don’t tell me you think I’d get involved with the mafia because I’m Italian.” </p><p>“No, that’s not it!” Antonio insisted. “It’s because you’re, well, you’re <em> you </em> . You’re <em> famous</em>, and you have dinners with Cuban drug lords and threesomes by the Pacific Coast Highway and for all I know you’ve killed a man. Hanging out with the mafia seems well within the range of possibility for you. I wouldn’t be surprised if they came and snatched you off the sidewalk.” </p><p>“No member of a comfortable <em> cosca </em>is going to yank some stranger off the street to do their bidding. My celebrity would be a great inconvenience to them. And Antonio, I know I’m famous, I don’t need reminders from you.” He put his hand on Antonio’s cheek, intending a patronizing gesture but stopped up short by Antonio’s adoring expression. Something unlike the worshipping adoration he was used to. </p><p>This was honest, almost too much so. How could he feel anything but vulnerable with his emotions on display like that? </p><p>“Ugh, stop looking at me like that.” </p><p>“No. But if you kiss me, you won’t have to see it,” Antonio said, tilting his face up towards Lovino’s. Lovino grumbled something but leaned forward and kissed him, his thumb on Antonio’s chin as he got him closer. Lovino slid a hand down the side of his neck and kissed along the underside of his jaw. </p><p>“Mmm, I should look at you like that more often,” Antonio muttered.</p><p>“I’m going to smother you with a pillow,” Lovino threatened, leaning back. “I’m starving. What do you have to eat?” Antonio shrugged, getting up to go into the kitchen. Lovino was horrified at his options. “And on top of this you only have two types of soap.” Antonio started wondering about how many types of soap he was supposed to have while Lovino went on complaining about the way he lived and eventually decided they would just get something from a restaurant to bring back. </p><p>They ate it in Antonio’s living room, listening to some radio drama. Antonio fell asleep during it, so Lovino put the rest of his food away and struggled to carry him into his room. </p><p>“Jesus, why do you have to work out so much?” Lovino groaned as he draped Antonio’s arms over his shoulders and attempted to pick him up again. Antonio nuzzled into his neck with a sigh, wrapping his arms around Lovino’s neck. “You really are insufferable,” Lovino muttered against his hair. </p><p>He dropped Antonio on the bed with a puff, proceeding to rub his sore arms. He went out on Antonio’s balcony for a bit, studying the faintest edge of light still over the mountains. There was no reason for him to stay any longer, but he curled up beside Antonio on the bed anyway, not intending to fall asleep, but perhaps hoping he would. </p><p>Really, he had only meant to close his eyes for a few moments, but when he opened them again it was to dewey morning sun. The radio was on in the kitchen and Antonio was petting his hair idly. </p><p>“Good morning,” Antonio said, lifting his hand as Lovino rolled over his back. “It’s so refreshing to wake up sober,” he added. Lovino shook his head a bit, planting his hands on the headboard to stretch before rolling into the spot the sun left on the sheets, turning his face towards the light. </p><p>“How did you sleep?” Antonio asked.</p><p>“Your mattress is shit.” </p><p>“About what I thought, then,” Antonio said. Lovino closed his eyes. He wanted to let himself go back under, to fall asleep in the sunspot. But then there was static on the radio and the music stopped. He felt the weight on the mattress shift as Antonio leaned over to mess with the dials, switching through the channels, when he halted at a frantic voice coming in from the other side. Lovino raised his head. </p><p><em> “...Broadcast this morning, from KGU in Honolulu, Hawai’i.” </em> There was a pause, then, “<em>I am speaking from the roof of the Advertiser Publishing Company Building.” </em>Lovino pushed himself up, trying to shake the weight feeling of sleep off of himself. </p><p>
  <em> “We have witnessed this morning the distant view of a brief full battle of Pearl Harbor and the severe bombing of Pearl Harbor by enemy planes, undoubtedly Japanese. The city of Honolulu has also been attacked…”  </em>
</p><p>“Oh God,” Antonio cut in. “You… you don’t think we’ll go to war, do you?” Lovino didn’t answer. “Lovino—”</p><p>“You need to stop talking,” Lovino snapped. His face was pale. </p><p>“<em>It is no joke. It is a real war. The public of Honolulu has been advised to keep in their homes and away from the Army and Navy. There has been serious fighting going on in the air and on the sea… We cannot estimate just how much damage has been done, but it has been a very severe attack.”  </em></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The raid on La Placita (Olvera St, Los Angeles) was a real event, taking place on February 26, 1931 and was one of a series of raids and illegal deportations that took place during President Hoover’s “Mexican repatriation” work from 1929 - 1936, including that of legal American citizens.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There was a fundamental wrongness about the motions of the day following the Pearl Harbor attack. Lovino was on edge all day, always bouncing his leg or biting his thumb nail. There was something he ought to be doing, somewhere else he should be. </p><p>His acting suffered, but the scenes were wrecked anyway from the lighting crew not following their cues and the cameras not maneuvering properly. Everyone was too stunned to let life go by as it always had, so they wrapped up filming early. Most of the footage wasn’t usable anyway. </p><p>Emma sat with him in his dressing room for a while, staring at the floor. They had been so silent and so still for so long they could have been cold marble, unfeeling, unseeing, a forgery of life. </p><p>They both gasped and jolted as the door banged open and Amelia stumbled in, clutching Mameko’s wrist. Mameko had a hand over the side of her face and her elbow was scraped up from concrete.</p><p>“Mr. Vargas, do you have bandages?” Amelia asked. Lovino had never heard her so panicked before. “Someone jumped Mameko behind the stage, she’s hurt real bad… Get up!” she added, shoving Lovino out of his chair. He got to his feet and Amelia pushed Mameko down into it, brushing her short hair away from her face. She reached her shaking hands into her pockets and took out a few bobby pins to hold her hair back from her cheek. </p><p>Her nose was bleeding, red pooling along her Cupid’s bow. Her jaw and forearm had streaky lesions left from the lot, and the white of her eye was red. Lovino’s stomach clenched at the sight. </p><p>Amelia pushed Emma aside and grabbed her purse, digging through it for her vodka flask. Then she marched over to Lovino and plucked the handkerchief from his suit, dousing it in alcohol and pressing it to the cuts on Mameko’s face. She flinched and shut her eyes. </p><p>“Let me see, Amelia,” Emma murmured. Amelia slowly lowered her hand, rubbing at her eyes with her free one. “Lovino, do you have a first aid kit in here?” He nodded, hurrying over to the cupboard to get it. </p><p>“I’m going to <em> kill </em>whoever did that to you,” Amelia said, grabbing Mameko’s hand and holding it so hard her knuckles went white. “I’m going to deck them so hard their whole face breaks! I mean it!” she yelled. </p><p>“Take her out of here, Lovino,” Emma said. Lovino passed her the first aid box and then grabbed Amelia by the arm, pulling her towards the door. She writhed and kicked at him.</p><p>“Let me<em> go</em>!” She tried to bite Lovino’s arm and he kicked her forward by the ankles, slamming the door of his dressing room behind him. “Asshole!” she yelled, trying to knee him between the legs. He shoved her back. </p><p>“It’s not helpful to have you in there screaming. Stop acting like a child,” he snapped. </p><p>“I’m sixteen. I <em> am </em> a child. And so is Mameko, but that didn’t stop some asshole from bashing her face in, did it?” She tried to force past him, but he blocked the door. </p><p>He grabbed her wrist. “You have got to stop or I’m going to slap you.” </p><p>“Do it, you pussy,” Amelia said. Lovino glared at her, and then he let go of her. “That’s what I thought.” She pulled out her cigarettes and broke one in half, tossing the end onto the asphalt and lighting the other. She crushed it with her heel. </p><p>Lovino glared towards the mountains and got a shock to see Antonio standing there. “What’s going on? Why are you yelling at each other?” he asked. Amelia leapt forward and went on yelling about Mameko and what a horrible waste of life Lovino was. Antonio paled. “Did you see who it was?” he asked. Amelia shook her head. </p><p>“Only found her because we meet by Stage Two so we can go to the diner together after work. She was on the ground with her face all bloody.” Amelia took a long, parching drag, holding the smoke in her mouth until it leaked out her nose and she had to exhale. </p><p>“She’s not even <em> from </em> Japan, she’s never even left the country! She was born in Hawai’i, that’s US territory, she’s an American citizen, she always has been.” </p><p>“Don’t be naïve, you know that doesn’t matter,” Lovino hissed. Amelia stared at him with her baleful eyes and then looked back at the trampled bit of cigarette and trampled it some more. Antonio put a hand on her shoulder. </p><p>“I’ll ask Emma to let you in, but you have to keep your head on, even if you’re upset.” Amelia dropped her gaze as Antonio whisked past her to open the door. She lowered her cigarette and closed her eyes, the aching vibrato of tears on her breath. Lovino slumped back against the wall and she glanced at him. </p><p>“Hey, Mr. Vargas, you don’t look so good,” she noticed. He was pale, and sweating, and his fingers were tingling and going numb. “You alright?” His vision was almost grainy around the edges, and he could hear his pulse pounding in his head. He couldn’t breathe right. </p><p>The door opened and Emma walked out with Mameko beside her, Antonio hanging back at the threshold. Amelia launched herself at her, hugging her tightly. </p><p>“I’m sorry,” she whispered, taking the bobby pins out of her hair. Mameko slowly hugged her back, holding onto her as Amelia took the pins out of her hair and smoothed it. “Let’s go to my place for a bit, okay?” Mameko nodded and let Amelia take her hand and walk her towards the gates. </p><p>“That poor girl,” Emma whispered. She glanced at Lovino. “She’s okay,” she promised, touching Lovino’s arm lightly. </p><p>“Her eye…” </p><p>“I think it was just broken blood vessels, it doesn’t seem like anything dangerous,” Emma promised. “Lovi? Lovino.” </p><p>“I… I’ll see you tomorrow,” he gasped, and hurried back into his dressing room. He couldn’t stop thinking about her eye, her bloody eye, the forming red of a bruise on her cheek. Antonio was still standing in the door, and he said Lovino’s name but Lovino hardly heard it as he stumbled past him into the room, listing on the dressing table and unable to move, or to think. </p><p><em> “Don’t touch me, don’t touch me, please, </em> please<em>, I haven’t done anything to you!”  </em></p><p>
  <em> “It’s me, Feliciano, it’s just me, it’s Lovino! Sit still, it’s just me! Who did this to you? Who was it? I’ll kill them, I mean it, I’ll fucking kill them!”  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Why are you yelling at me?”  </em>
</p><p>New York City was there beside him, and the tangle of grimy greyscale memories that didn’t belong in his head beside all those of Los Angeles. In the heart of that monochrome knot was the cold of late November that had stung his skin the night he searched his neighborhood for Feliciano. </p><p>He didn’t recall anything else about that day but when he found his brother, when dread replaced his blood and he dropped to his knees on the sidewalk. The first snow of the year had started, tiny flakes that made a soft sound on the concrete that Lovino didn’t hear as he grabbed Feliciano’s shoulders and Feliciano screamed. He scratched and kicked at Lovino until he realized who he was; it was too dark to see. </p><p>The cold gripped on harder, the snowflakes smaller, lingering in his lashes as he picked Feliciano up off that icy ground because he couldn’t stand up on his own. He was shaking too badly for that, crying so hard that it had a dull echo between the shuttered apartments even with the hush the snowfall brought.  </p><p>Feliciano always delighted in the snow, trying to catch the flakes on his tongue or on an outstretched hand. But that night he had just held the back of Lovino’s coat, hiding his face in his shoulder the way he had after skinning his knee as a toddler when Lovino brought him back inside to bandage it. </p><p>Even now, it seemed unreal. How Feliciano didn’t smile at the snow, how he had hit Lovino across the face so hard it still stung when he reached their apartment. But nothing had seemed so wrong than seeing Romulus in tears. Lovino had stood in the doorway in the coat that didn’t fit him right, watching Romulus holding Feliciano to his chest and crying. Something had broken in him at the sight, some leftover adolescent conviction that his father had no weakness or fear of anything. </p><p>Lovino forced himself to stop thinking about it, raising a shaking hand to his jugular to feel his pulse. Antonio put a hand on his shoulder. Lovino’s ear were ringing. He couldn’t find any words, his head was too filled up with Mameko’s bloody eye and Feliciano’s broken nose and his crying father, the bombing, all the people who had died that morning. </p><p>They were going to war. The president was going to declare war. </p><p>Antonio gripped Lovino’s shoulder a little harder, and Lovino tried to anchor himself back into reality at the feeling. “A-Antonio,” he stuttered. “Just-would you-I…” Lovino collapsed in his chair. His breathing got faster and then he was hyperventilating so hard his throat hurt. The muddled edges of his vision got closer, the ringing in his ears got louder. His eyes were welling. He pushed down hader on his jugular. </p><p><em> Calm down! </em>He ordered himself, which only made it all worse. </p><p>“Lovino. <em> Lovino</em>.” Antonio forced himself to keep calm; he was at a loss for exactly what to do, but panicking seemed like it would drastically add insult to injury. “Can you hear me?” Lovino nodded. “It’s okay. Try and breathe.” </p><p>“I <em> can’t</em>,” Lovino choked.  </p><p>“Okay, then… Uh…” Antonio stared at the ground for a moment, trying to think of a way to keep Lovino talking. “Then count to ten.” Lovino did, his breathing leveling out the slightest bit. Antonio hesitated, placing a tentative hand on Lovino’s arm. “D-do you feel any better?” Lovino half-nodded, fumbling for Antonio’s hand and squeezing it hard. He closed his eyes and tried to breathe, loosening his grip as the world returned to normal. </p><p>Antonio held Lovino’s hand to his heart, rubbing his arm lightly. “Are you alright?” he asked. Lovino took a few more low breaths, immediately embarrassed that Antonio had seen him like that. He pulled his hand away and stood up, reaching for his jacket. </p><p>“Lovino,” Antonio said, brushing his wrist. Lovino stilled at the simple sound of his name. Hardly anyone said it like that anymore, without the implore, without the breathlessness. Lovino slid his coat on, holding the lapels for a moment before he turned around. He couldn’t meet Antonio’s eyes, still hot with shame, wishing he could tear that moment from his memory and crumple it down in nothing. </p><p>Antonio let go of his wrist and hugged him. Lovino’s chin caught on his shoulder and he was staring at the ceiling, lips parted in surprise. His first instinct was to push Antonio away, but he didn’t want to when he felt so much better with Antonio’s arms around him. Instead he closed his eyes and burrowed against Antonio’s chest, sinking into his body heat and the smell of hairspray on his shirt. </p><p>This was too much weakness, but he couldn’t pull away. Now his heart was beating hard again, all because of him, because of Antonio. Lovino turned his cheek to listen to the muffled rhythm of Antonio’s, restless as his. Lovino closed his eyes tighter, drawing another shivering breath before pulling away. </p><p>Antonio hesitated a moment, then touched his elbow, still looking concerned and open to explanation. Lovino was weighed on by that soft touch, dropping his gaze again but forcing himself to straighten. He stood up and gave Antonio a peck on the cheek. </p><p>“Goodnight, Antonio. I’ll see you tomorrow, we should... we should have dinner.” He buttoned his coat and held the door open for him. </p><p>“Okay. Call me if you need anything, alright?” Lovino nodded, watching Antonio go before walking to his own car. Another fresh wave of embarrassment overwhelmed him so he grabbed the steering wheel and banged his head against it. If he broke down like that again he would be thrown into an asylum. </p><p>At first he got on the road for Santa Monica, but halfway there he doubled back, swallowing against the tightness in his throat. They were going to go to war. He would have to sign up for the draft now, with no Italian citizenship to use as a shield. Besides that, he didn't feel right avoiding it; this country had become his messiah, and he was indebted to it. The only fair thing he could offer in return was his life, the life America had let him have. If he had to give it up, he would. </p><p>The Army’s office would typically be closing around this time, but there were so many men intent on enlisting after the attack they kept their doors open. There were tens of men outside, making it hard for Lovino to park. He staggered out of the car and brushed past them to the door, ignoring exclamations of his sudden appearance and pleas for his autograph. </p><p>Inside it was very woody and close-quartered, an American flag hanging across the back wall. The first time he had seen that flag was some balmy, humid summer night in 1929 when he was so exhausted everything could have been a dream. He had a lingering seasickness still clinging to his stomach. Feliciano was asleep in his arms, holding the back of his shirt. Lovino’s arms were sore and he wanted Romulus to pick them both up, but he had their luggage in one hand and their papers in the other. </p><p>Despite his tiredness, Lovino had tried to take in his surroundings while his father passed their papers to one of the stiff-backed immigration officers. This was his first real look at America. Across the water was New York City, only a sparkle on the harbor. He had never seen so many lights. Had not imagined it. This was a sight he needed to share, so he jostled Feliciano to wake him. Feliciano raised his head.</p><p>“Look,” Lovino had murmured. “Look at the city. That’s where we’re going to live, Feli.” He remembered the weight against him shift as Feliciano turned to look, resting his cheek on Lovino’s shoulder.</p><p>“Where’s the lady?” he asked. </p><p>“You mean the Statue of Liberty?” Lovino looked around. “Oh, over there!” he pointed, holding Feliciano up so he could see. The flagpole was off to the left, and it hung there, muttering in a low breeze off the ocean. </p><p>There was another one inside, hung on the back wall far above the heads of the travel-worn crowd, waiting to be looked over by one of the physicians. The doctor waved Romulus forward first. He made Lovino nervous and he shrank back, holding Feliciano tighter. He said something snappy to Lovino, but he knew no English and snapped right back. He didn’t want this stranger touching him, certainly not his little brother. </p><p>“Lovino…” Romulus crouched down beside him, putting a hand on his back. “It’s alright. He has to make sure you’re not sick.” </p><p>“I don’t want him to. I’m not,” Lovino murmured. His eyes had stung. He was tired and hungry and everything here was unfamiliar. </p><p>“I know, but it will only be a second. I’m right here.” Romulus took Feliciano from him, setting him on his shoulders while Lovino stalked forward to let himself be looked over. He stood stiff and stared at the flag, counting the stars until he was cleared. </p><p>So many of those stars in Los Angeles. Too many to count over and over on his fingers. More than in the night sky. </p><p>Lovino drove home with that tightness still constricting his throat. He poured himself a glass of wine and stared at the phone, debating. Finally he called Antonio.</p><p>
  <em> “Lovino?”  </em>
</p><p>“I’ve gotten to the point in my life where drinking alone just isn’t all that fun,” he said with a sigh. Antonio laughed a bit. </p><p><em> “Was it ever?” </em> Lovino didn’t answer, clearing with throat slightly to try and encourage Antonio to get the hint. He clearly did not. </p><p>“I wasn't just wanting to share that little fact about my life," Lovino said. Still Antonio was lost. "I'm asking you to come around my place, if you've got some time." </p><p><em> “Oh, absolutely! I’ll be there in twenty.” </em>Lovino hung up, taking a sip of his wine and curling up in the corner of the couch. He lit a fire in the grate, going to the window while he waited for Antonio, who arrived hastily dressed with his hair down, explaining he had been getting read for bed when Lovino had called. They sat on the couch and made their way through half the bottle while the night darkened outside.</p><p>Lovino pushed his fingers through Antonio’s as he drank, just glad to be with him. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Antonio rubbed harder at the dried mud on his face, glaring at himself in the mirror. He didn’t understand why Mr. Kirkland was so insistent on using real mud—they wanted to make war seem glamorous, didn’t they? Mud was not glamorous. Perhaps this was just Arthur’s way of expressing his increasing distaste for Antonio. </p><p>There was a knock on the door. “It’s Lovino!” Antonio felt his pulse jump as he called him in, sensing a sort of helplessness in his expression as Lovino sauntered in to lean against the wall. Antonio felt a heaviness in his stomach. </p><p>When he had kissed Lovino and drawn those evasive words to his lips, he thought it would put to rest that ache he had harbored for so many months, but it had seemed to do the very opposite. That night could very well have been only a careful fantasy or some hopeful scenario to give himself a push into admitting his feelings to Lovino; Lovino didn’t seem to have really registered it at all. Antonio supposed he had been stupid to expect it would, since Lovino was likely so used to constant praise and adoration that Antonio’s was lost amongst it all.</p><p>“Do you have plans tonight?” Lovino asked. Antonio set the cloth down and leaned on his hand. </p><p>“Whatever you have scheduled.” </p><p>“Very good answer, Antonio,” Lovino said with a slight smile. But his smiles were always a sort of smirk, something smug that didn’t give way to excitement or genuine affection. “I’ll see you at seven. We’ll have dinner.” </p><p>“I look forward to it,” Antonio said. Lovino nodded and turned back for the door, and then he was gone all over again, making that sore something in Antonio’s stomach hurt even more. He buried his face in his hands, his nerve endings humming with that electricity of Lovino’s, hot with giddiness but subdued at the same time. </p><p>As he looked back at his reflection, his cheeks were pink from blush alongside the red of rough scouring. Pretending he was suffering no internal civil war, he went on checking his face from a few various angles to assure he had gotten rid of the mud, noticing a bit of lipstick on the edge of his cheekbone from where Anneliese had kissed him in one of the last scenes he had done. Antonio rubbed at the spot until his skin was raw. </p><p>Just the thought of her made him cringe. He drove the palm of his hand against his forehead, as if it could erase the memory of her up against this very mirror if he pressed hard enough. </p><p>There was no real reason for saying yes to her all those weeks ago than to try and convince himself he had no feelings for Lovino, which had been proved wrong miraculously quickly. There was guilt over it, too, as though he had used her. Then again, it wasn’t as if she had been expecting any sort of commitment from him. </p><p>In fact, Antonio was a little hurt by her indifference. That complete hollow emotional dissonance was too disconcerting, but he hadn’t quite felt it when he decided to sleep with her or Lovino either, too off-kilter after leaving his country and being immersed in another. </p><p>Romance had certainly been on his mind when he came to LA along with this fistfuls of other fantasies, but it became more and more distant as the city pulled him in. He came to see this as a place for one night stands and first dates with exciting people he would never speak to again. Until he had kissed Lovino, he had never imagined having a real date here that might lead to anything. Perhaps that was why this was so intoxicating and thrilling but disappointing. </p><p>Intent on dressing properly for the occasion, he entailed the help of Francis; Lovino was always complaining about his outfits and he didn’t trust himself. </p><p>He was in the middle of drying his hair when Francis rang the doorbell. “Hello,” Antonio said. Francis started saying something about there being no time to talk when he glanced at Antonio, who had only bothered with a towel. </p><p>“My my, I hope your date gets lucky, Tony. Not even a hand-tailored, personalized suit from Paris can do your figure justice.” </p><p>“Uh, thank you.” Francis patted his shoulder blade. </p><p>“Of course. Now! Clothes. Come on,” Francis said, marching into Antonio’s bedroom and proceeding to dig with a certain mercilessness through his closet.</p><p>“I was going to wear those.” Antonio gestured to the trousers Francis had tossed down on the bed. Francis shook his head. </p><p>“Too stiff. You should be comfortable, or you’ll waste your time thinking about pants instead of the lovely lady across from you, and that is unacceptable.” Antonio gave him a dersive little eye raise and went on toweling his hair dry while Francis continued his rooting. Finding an outfit he deemed appropriate, he called Antonio back in to the room. While he changed Francis helped himself to Antonio’s wine, glass in hand when he emerged from the bathroom. </p><p>“Walk towards me.” Antonio swaggered over and gave his lapels a light tug. “Turn around,” Francis said. Antonio turned around, giving him a wink when he was the right way around and then laughing at himself. Francis fanned his face with his hand. “Oh, Tony, you’re getting me all flustered.” He finished his wine and set the glass down. “Come, let me do something about your hair.” </p><p> Antonio sat on the closed toilet while Francis did his work with a comb and far too much fluffing, going on about the tragedy of how much his hair suffered a loss in volume due to improper oiling. Antonio would have thought he was being passive aggressive if he believed Francis could be passive about anything.</p><p>“What cologne are you going to wear?” Francis asked. Antonio stood up and got a bottle out of the mirror cabinet. Francis wafted it and pulled a face. “No, absolutely not, you can’t use this. You’re very lucky that I never travel anywhere without some backup.” He reached into his pocket for a finger-sized bottle. “It’s from the lavender fields in south of France. No, it doesn’t smell like lavender, I know that makes you sneeze,” he added. He spritzed a bit on his wrist and held it up to Antonio, who gave it a ginger sniff.</p><p>“That is nice,” Antonio said. </p><p>“I know. I always deliver.” </p><p>“You do.” Antonio reached for the bottle, but Francis blocked his hand. </p><p>“No, you’ve not earned that privilege. Applying cologne is an art you have yet to master, allow me.” Antonio sighed but he let Francis take his wrists and give them a light dusting of the stuff, then the nape of his neck. It made his skin tingle. He still felt rather luxurious having someone style his clothes and hair and apply cologne for him, even after getting accustomed to it after so many months of set. </p><p>“Thank you, Francis,” he said. </p><p>“You’re welcome, dear,” Francis said, resting a hand on his shoulder. “So, who is this lucky date of yours?” Antonio cleared his throat, but Francis didn’t get the hint, so he cleared it again. “Ugh, fine. But I will find out who it is soon enough.” Antonio pulled at the cuff of his suit, glancing at the sink. </p><p>“She’s going to be here soon, so…” </p><p>“Oh, I’m gone,” Francis said. Antonio walked him to the door and gave him a polite goodbye, then collapsed on the couch to stare at the clock and wait. Seven came and went. </p><p>It wasn’t until twelve past the hour when the doorbell rang. Antonio yanked the door open and tried to seem composed despite the fact he had been on the verge of breakdown over being stood up milliseconds ago. Lovino was standing there in the doorway dressed in a suit that enlightened Antonio to the wonders proper-fitting clothes could do. </p><p>“Hello,” Antonio said, but before he said anything more Lovino crossed the threshold and pushed the door shut. </p><p>“In case someone’s poking around,” he murmured. “You smell nice.” Antonio thanked him, deciding not to tell him it was Francis’s cologne. That would ruin the night before it had even begun. “Speaking of people poking around, I didn’t want us to be hounded by the paps, so we’re going to my place.” </p><p>“Excellent. After you,” Antonio said. He opened the door and followed Lovino out. He made them take the back staircase, where he had parked his car in the alley that always smelled like piss and never fully dried after rain. </p><p>Antonio took in the city as Lovino drove. Given that it was the peak of winter, the sun had already long gone down and the night was full and lay thick over the busy streets. It gave a resonant backdrop for the neon signs and headlights. Light from street lamps slipped over his hand and down Lovino’s thigh as they passed them, a continual motion that held Antonio’s eyes. </p><p>Lovino’s apartment was magnificent as always with all its gold and marble. Lovino took Antonio’s coat, hanging it on the stand beside a statue of Venus. The statue roused Antonio’s guilt about a time in August when he had marched in drunk at two in the morning and knocked it over. He hoped that dent in her shoulder had always been there. </p><p>“Are you staring at my statue’s tits?” Lovino asked. </p><p>“Absolutely not!” Antonio said, hurrying after him into the dining room. There was a vase sitting on the sideboard filled with centifolias, the source of that floral, sweet scent in the foyer.</p><p>“I didn’t know you could cook,” Antonio said. </p><p>“I don’t much anymore,” Lovino admitted. “I used to a lot when I lived in New York, since I always made dinner for myself and Feli.” </p><p> “I assume Feli is your brother? That’s so sweet that you took care of your brother. Mine would have probably made dinner for himself and told me to get my own if I was hungry,” Antonio said.</p><p>Lovino paused for a moment. “Feli’s a nickname. It’s Feliciano,” he said, glancing at the tablecloth. “He’s a junior in college.” </p><p>“What’s he studying?” </p><p>“He’s majoring in drawing and painting, minoring in art history,” Lovino said, pulling Antonio’s chair back for him. </p><p>“Why thank you,” Antonio said. Lovino sat down across from him, then jumped back up. </p><p>“T-the wine, I forgot the wine!” Antonio couldn’t help hoping that mental slip had been because he was nervous too, though Antonio supposed he didn’t actually feel all that anxious. Everything felt too lopsided with this being their first date after many months of staying the night with him. </p><p>The more Antonio talked to him, the more human he seemed again. He was the Lovino at the bar, when Antonio hadn’t known him to be anything other than ordinary. He too was someone who had stared at the stars and willed them for something spectacular, someone who had grown up dreaming but never knowing they might come to fruition. </p><p>Antonio wondered if Lovino himself had forgotten too, the way he talked of his accomplishments and exploits in his early days of Hollywood. Some of them gave Antonio a twinge of irritation. </p><p>Perhaps it was that attraction clouding up his eyes, but he didn’t think it was just an overly-active ego. Whenever Antonio asked about his childhood, Lovino would lean an arm on the table and cross his legs, his expression hardening. Anything he did say was vague and sometimes convoluted. He simply didn’t find his history near as interesting as Antonio, becoming outright annoyed at him when he dared to ask a follow-up question.  </p><p>No, he only wanted to talk about Los Angeles, but Antonio had little interest in that. He had seen plenty of Lovino’s behavior here. He wanted to know what he had been like before people wound the stars around their fingers for him, when he had been someone with starved, gnawing ambition and dreams in saturated, stunning color. </p><p>Lovino did not indgule him, but Antonio supposed he had good reason. The idea of him growing up on some little orchard in Sicily and coming to the United States to be a movie star made a nice rags-to-riches story to an outsider; Lovino even made it sound quaint. But maybe it hadn’t been so quaint, and if Lovino didn’t want to tell him about that, Antonio didn’t feel he really had the right to know. Instead he let the conversation go where it wanted, and then Lovino relaxed. </p><p>He wasn’t hard to talk to when he gave up his front. He even made Antonio laugh, but when he did it elicited an eyebrow raise and a pause. Making people laugh clearly wasn’t something he was used to doing. Antonio teased him about it, and when he eventually got a genuine laugh out of Lovino he froze and just stared at him with his mouth open. </p><p>“Oh, stop that,” Lovino said. Antonio kept staring and Lovino got up. “Do you want any more wine?” Lovino asked, leaning on the doorframe to the kitchen. Antonio nodded, and Lovino filled his glass and went over to the centifolias, touching the petals lightly. </p><p>Antonio wasn’t sure what it was about that simple sight of Lovino with his back turned, the light sparking off his half-empty wine glass as his fingertips lingering on the petals, but he got raw with affection for him. </p><p>“Lovino,” Antonio started, a little softer than he intended. Lovino turned. “Lovino, may I be honest with you?” He nodded, his expression apprehensive. “I really like you,” he said after a deep breath. “But… but I still can’t tell if you want a relationship, or even if you like me.” </p><p>Lovino shifted his weight. “Why would you think I don’t want a relationship?” he asked. “And don’t even consider saying <em> because you’re Lovino Vargas </em>or I will fling my wine into your face.” </p><p>“Then I have nothing to say,” Antonio said with a smile. “I like your assertiveness, though.” Lovino considered him for a second, taking a sip of his wine. </p><p>“It’s almost like you <em> want </em>me to. My God, you’re worse than that girl who asked me to spit on her.” Antonio bristled. </p><p>“If anyone’s spitting on you, it’s going to be <em> me</em>.” </p><p>“Better watch it and save some of that romance, Antonio,” Lovino said. He walked over and rested his hand on the table, and Antonio laid his hands on Lovino’s hips, resting his forehead on his stomach. “What are you doing?” Antonio shrugged. </p><p>“I just like…” he trailed off. </p><p>“Having your hands all over me?” Antonio sighed against his abdomen. “You’re just an absolute whore for me.” Antonio’s ears got red and he leaned back in his chair, walking his fingers over Lovino’s hand and curling them around his wrist. Lovino leaned in to kiss him, and before he could lean back Antonio wound his tie around his palm and yanked him back down. The corners of Lovino’s mouth twitched.</p><p>“See? You just can’t get enough of me.” Antonio knew it was a tease. He shouldn't bite. </p><p>“No, I can’t,” Antonio whispered. “But that’s really something coming from you, who can’t go two nights without calling me in the middle of the night.” Lovino looked away. Antonio put a hand on his cheek. “You know I mean it though, don’t you? About what I said?” Lovino raised an eyebrow.</p><p>“Not at all, I just thought I would have you for dinner for the plain old fun of it,” Lovino drawled. </p><p>"Wait, this, this was a date?" he asked. </p><p>"Was it?" </p><p>"Can't you just give me a clear answer?" Antonio snapped. He searched Lovino’s eyes for a moment, but Lovino was staring at his mouth. Antonio put a thumb on his chin, trying to tempt him to look up, and he finally did, but Antonio had nothing to say. Instead he kissed Lovino again, as if to communicate the depth of that ache in his chest. But he knew it was nothing but another kiss to Lovino, and his heart hurt because of it. </p><p>Maybe that wasn’t true, Antonio thought, remember what Lovino had said to him in one of their many conversations just past midnight at varying degrees of sobriety. <em> I told you, I don’t go kissing everyone I see on the sidewalk, or people I’m just screwing. Or who are screwing me. </em>Antonio’s hand relaxed on Lovino’s tie. </p><p>It was not just another kiss. It was something, but not what Antonio wanted it to be.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Antonio leaned against the wall beside Lovino’s door, sighing and knocking a second time. Lovino always followed odd hours to avoid being harassed, and Antonio never knew when he would be in without calling first. But the day had been long and draining. He wanted to see Lovino, and calling felt like too much a delay. </p><p>The door opened. “I heard you the first time,” Lovino said. Antonio stepped inside the apartment and collapsed on Lovino’s couch, pressing his fingers to his forehead. </p><p>“Busy day?” Lovino asked, closing the door. Antonio nodded. “Do you want a drink?” </p><p>“No. I just want to be with you,” he muttered, smiling at Lovino under his hand. </p><p>“I see.” Lovino sat down and Antonio nuzzled against him, sighing out his nose. The cotton of his shirt was soft and suffused with body heat. Underneath Antonio’s cheek Lovino’s heart beat without expected steadiness, and Antonio hoped he was the reason. Lovino traced his fingers along Antonio’s neck, kissing his temple and then outlining the helix of his ear until Antonio closed his eyes and tilted his face up. </p><p>With a painful slowness, Lovino leaned down towards Antonio, lingering close to take in his breath before kissing him. There was such delicacy in the brush of his lips it ran over with adoration that cut Antonio deep. There was nothing soft or sweet or slow in the Los Angeles he had come to know. Nothing like Lovino. </p><p>His touch was reverence, his kisses were choral praises of sanctity in a cathedral that had stood since cities were nothing but weathered wood and old stone. Having Lovino’s body against his was the closest thing to a religious experience Antonio thought he would ever feel. </p><p>Antonio attempted to push Lovino’s unbuttoned jacket off, but Lovino shook his head. “Make me wait for it,” he muttered, his voice cluttered at the split seam of Antonio’s lips. He bit down on Antonio’s bottom lip until the pain made him twitch, pressing his teeth in harder but letting go when Antonio whined. When Lovino pulled away from him his breath was hard and open-mouthed, an overdone rendition of Antonio’s soft panting. </p><p>Leaning his forehead to Antonio’s, Lovino touched the mark his teeth had left against Antonio’s lip, moving it in a small circle. </p><p>“What was that about?” he asked, meeting Lovino’s eyes with a slight smirk. Without waiting for an answer he kissed Lovino beneath his jaw, hands sinking down his sides as he grazed his teeth along Lovino’s throat to the hollow beneath his Adam’s apple. </p><p>Antonio gave a low, stuttering breath against the indent between his collarbones, bringing his lips back and forth across the spot. “You’re so beautiful.” Antonio exhaled again in that slow, intoxicated way. “I wish there was another word for it, that’s just not enough.” He shook his head, reaching for Lovino’s lapels, but Lovino pulled his hands away. </p><p>Antonio sighed and looked up at him as Lovino laid Antonio’s hands on his thighs. “Not yet. Keep kissing me,” he said.</p><p>Pinching his eyes shut, Antonio sighed. “You always do this.” </p><p>“Because it’s <em> fun</em>,” Lovino said. </p><p>Now Antonio smiled, sliding his hands down to Lovino’s knees. “I don’t believe that even a little, you’re too impatient about everything. You just know I’ll do what you want.” Antonio put a hand on his jaw and kissed him again. Lovino had taught him long before now the fine details of exactly what he liked, and no one proved a more eager student than Antonio. </p><p>Finally Lovino didn’t resist when Antonio pulled his suit jacket off, tugging Antonio’s down his arms and staggering to his feet. </p><p>He planted a hand on Antonio’s chest, fumbling with his bedroom door. “Wait, wait. I have to shut the curtains.” Antonio laid down on the made bed, smiling up at Lovino’s flushed face when he perched on his abdomen. As he undid Antonio’s collar button, and Antonio took his wrist and kissed the point where his pulse beat. </p><p>“Lovino…” he whispered, making his name sound like a cardinal sin. Lovino reached to undo his trousers but Antonio blocked his hand. “It’s not nice, is it?” Lovino glared at him. “Don’t look at me like that, Lovi,” he went on, stroking his cheek with his knuckles. “Be good for me like you always are.” Lovino sighed and shifted his weight, still frowning. “Stand up so I can watch you.” </p><p>For a moment Lovino considered complaining, but then Antonio unbuttoned his own pants. “I know you like watching me touch myself. My God does it turn you on,” he muttered. Lovino hesitated another moment, red-faced and watching him.</p><p>“Fine. But don’t get off, and don’t take your eyes off me.” </p><p>“I would never,” Antonio promised, taking Lovino’s wrist to kiss him there again. </p><p>“Go on,” Lovino said, nudging Antonio’s shoulder with his foot. He stood up and flicked the lamp beside the bed on. He waited as Antonio somewhat haphazardly stripped. “You’re not upholding your end of the bargain.” </p><p>“No, not until you start taking your clothes off,” Antonio said, smiling. Lovino took a steady breath and began to undo his shirt. He was used to being looked at, but never like this, until he was weak in the knees and wanted to hide his face because even his sore ego felt this was too much attention. Certainly it was more than he deserved from Antonio. </p><p>“Don’t be shy. You’re doing perfectly, keep going,” Antonio whispered. Lovino felt his stomach turn over at the softness of his voice. Why was he so susceptible to everything Antonio did? And how could Antonio, who couldn’t even take a hint, see through him that easily? He stood still for a moment, naked and lost in his head, altogether too vulnerable to be seen by anyone. Anyone but Antonio.</p><p>“Come here, sweetheart,” Antonio said. Lovino settled back on his stomach, and Antonio leaned forward to kiss his side. “Are you alright?” He looked up and Lovino nodded. “Okay.” He laid back down, running his hands up Lovino’s thighs and smiling at him with the same daze pleasant and heavy on Lovino’s body. There was precum on his fingertips, Lovino could feel it. </p><p>“Get on your stomach,” Antonio said. Lovino rolled off him onto his chest, resting his arms on his assortment of pillows. He heard Antonio digging around in the drawer for a moment while tracing his fingers up and down Lovino’s spine. The sensation made Lovino twitch and he buried his face into the pillows. Did Antonio touch everyone like that, or was that just for him? </p><p>Again he found his mind not so much wandering as careening towards wondering how strong Antonio’s feelings for him really were, or how genuine. </p><p>Antonio leaned close to his ear and kissed the edge of it. Lovino’s breath caught at the base of his throat, slipping into a few modest whimpers. </p><p>“What was that?” he asked, his breath warm on Lovino’s jaw. </p><p>“I’ll be louder when you give me a reason.” </p><p>“Oh, I see.” Antonio murmured. His fingers were cold from the tepid olive oil, but Lovino wriggled down the mattress to take them deeper all the same. He pressed his face closer into the pillows, grinding against the sheets until Antonio held his hips still with his knees. The pressure on his pelvis hurt. </p><p>Antonio ran a hand over his shoulder, stroking the back of his arm. “Do you even understand how lovely you are, Lovino?” There was a soft dusting of warmth on Lovino’s skin as Antonio pressed his lips to his shoulder blade. Lovino closed his eyes, curling his fingers in the sheets beside him. He wanted to tease him, say something about how yes, he knew it; he could make Venus jealous. But he didn’t. </p><p>When Antonio withdrew his fingers he stroked the sides of Lovino’s thighs for a few seconds, letting him catch his breath and studying the light pink in his cheeks. Lovino’s whole body felt raw and restless so when Antonio brushed the hair off his forehead he shivered again. </p><p>“Is this reason enough?” Antonio murmured, easing into him while he kept stroking his forehead. </p><p>“<em>Yes</em>,” Lovino gasped. </p><p>“I hoped so.” Antonio braced his hands on either side of Lovino’s head, kissing down his nape and behind his ears, anywhere he could get his mouth. “Oh, you feel so amazing, Lovi…” He pushed his fingers through Lovino’s, still curled into the sheets and slid the other down his stomach to his cock. Antonio held on harder to his hand. </p><p>“That feels good, doesn’t it?” Lovino nodded, still biting the inside of his lip. “I’m glad. You deserve it,” Antonio said, kissing his cheekbone. </p><p>“Fuck me harder,” he said. Antonio grinned against his cheek and kissed him again.</p><p>“Anything you want, <em> cariño</em>.” Lovino arched back against him, gasping softly. “I’ve always loved how you spread your legs for me so easily.” </p><p>“Less… talking,” Lovino panted. Antonio chuckled under his breath again, dropping down to his elbows and kissing Lovino’s knuckles. Lovino almost hid his face. It was too much, that kiss, like reverence, as if he were the living testament to something Antonio had worshipped all his life. </p><p>Antonio wrapped the fingers of his free hand on the underside of Lovino’s neck, pressing down on his throat just enough to make him gasp.</p><p>“Do that again,” Lovino forced out. He did, harder and slower. He pressed his chest to Lovino’s back, breathing hard out his nose beside Lovino’s ear, the harsh rhythm of it breaking as he cursed softly until the words had no meaning left. </p><p>Lovino pressed his nails into Antonio’s palms again. “Oh, God, Antonio, <em> Antonio.</em>” He pulled his breath in through his teeth, clenching and unclenching his hand over his. “Oh <em> fuck </em> I love you.”</p><p>Antonio didn’t register the words for some seconds, and during those seconds Lovino began panicking. He rolled over, uprooting Antonio, who was staring at him in a way that proved he now realized what had just been said. </p><p>“Uh… <em> um</em>. <em> Oh</em>,” he forced out. He had no idea what to say, or to think, too lost in what Lovino said next. There was nothing, though, just them staring at each other and still breathing hard. </p><p>“I… I’m sure you don’t know a thing about Freudian slips,” Lovino said. Antonio shook his head. “Forget it, I was only a bit caught up.” He rolled back over, resisting the urge to hide his face in the pillows. Antonio wanted him to go on, but he doubted Lovino would, not now, at least. </p><p>Still, he couldn’t stop hearing that phrase over and over again, the way Lovino had said it without pause, as if it were something familiar to his tongue. </p><p>“Stop, stop, I came,” Lovino said suddenly. </p><p>“O-oh,” he stuttered for the second time. He paused a moment before finishing himself off and turned over to lay beside Lovino, who stood up and went to the bathroom without looking at him. Antonio slid his hands over his face, feeling sweat slip under his fingers. His heart was still beating in his ears and his throat but nowhere near its place in his chest.</p><p> When Lovino returned he gave him a disapproving look. “What’s going on with you?” he asked. Antonio stared at him. </p><p>“Seriously?” he asked, raising his eyebrows. Lovino’s facial expression didn’t shift. “Are you going to pretend you didn’t just say what you said?” Antonio closed his eyes and turned away. “You can be such a dick.” Lovino stared at the mattress. “Did you mean it?” </p><p>“Of course I didn’t mean it,” Lovino said. Antonio closed his eyes again. “Do you want me to have meant it? We’ve been on <em> one </em> date, that’s perhaps a bit early for <em> I love yous</em>.” </p><p>“Maybe so, but at least then I’d know you take this seriously,” Antonio whispered against his hands. Lovino sat down next to him, watching Antonio shake his head a bit and roll onto his back, staring at the ceiling. “<em>I like you</em> doesn’t mean anything to you, does it? Because everyone is always telling you they love you. They’d die for you. But listen to me, Lovino.” Antonio took Lovino’s hands, and Lovino looked down at their entwined fingers and then up at Antonio’s face. </p><p>“When I’m with you, I feel sick to my stomach because I just don’t know what to do about how much I… ah, fuck it all, how much I love you. I get so red just when I hear your name and when you touch me, my God, it’s like my heart’s going to burst it’s beating so fast. I think about you all the time, so much it has to be unhealthy, but I don’t care if it is because you’re right, I can’t get enough of you.” </p><p>Lovino’s hands had loosened under Antonio’s, his expression so taken aback but pleased but sad all at once. </p><p> “I know you’re cynical, but you have to believe that you can feel it when you’re with someone… someone different than anyone else you’ve been with.” Antonio touched Lovino’s chest, right over his heart. Lovino felt goosebumps prickle along his body. </p><p>“And if you don’t feel that too, it’ll break my heart, but if you don’t, please just tell me now.”</p><p> “Antonio, I…” Lovino shook his head. “I-I-how am I supposed to respond to all that?” Now his expression got more accusatory and he was himself again. </p><p>Antonio smiled a bit. “Just tell me how you feel.” He ran a hand down his arm. “How <em> I </em>make you feel.” Lovino shivered, watching the progress of his hand down to his wrist. Antonio took his hand.</p><p>“Talking about things is not my forte, I think you would have spelled that out by now.” </p><p>“Just try,” Antonio whispered, brushing his pointer finger below Lovino’s chin so he would look up. “For me?” Lovino cast his eyes down.</p><p>“Alright, fine.” Lovino took a deep breath, staring at the mussed blankets. “Remember when we met at that shitty bar?” Antonio nodded. “Yeah, well. I went there to avoid the crowds, but then you were, and you kept looking at me. I thought you were some fan who followed me in there so I was about ready to give you a real knuckle sandwich, especially when I walked up to you and you looked at me all starstruck, but… I-well, then I figured out you didn’t even knew who I was.</p><p>“Then you did, and of course your attitude changed. I expected it but it pissed me off, more than I thought it would, actually. But when you weren’t acting like a dumbass I really liked talking to you, which… that’s not usually something I enjoy. I can’t explain it. You’re right, it’s just… it’s just a feeling. A feeling like, like you’re…” Lovino groaned. “I don’t know. You know those people. Just the ones that you know right away can…  understand you.” </p><p>“Lovi…” Antonio murmured, touching his forehead to Lovino’s and squeezing his hand. </p><p>“No, no, don’t. Ugh. That was so <em> gross</em>.” </p><p>“That was emotional vulnerability. And yes, it can be uncomfortable, but aren’t you glad you said it?” </p><p>“Not even a little,” Lovino said, hooking his arms around Antonio’s shoulders. </p><p>Antonio nibbled at his neck to get a little laugh out of him. “You are such an asshole!” he said, starting to laugh himself. He yanked Lovino down against his chest, and Lovino buried his face in Antonio’s neck. After some struggling, Antonio freed up the silky duvet to pull over them. Lovino curled up against his side, tucking the comforter around him. </p><p>“Goodnight, Lovino,” Antonio murmured, kissing the top of his head.</p><p>“Goodnight. Love you,” He added with the smallest sneer. Antonio promptly rolled away from him at this, tugging the blanket along with him. “Hey!” he snapped, burrowing back under the blankets. “I hope you wake up with a neck cramp, you ass-bastard.” </p><p>“Lovi…” Antonio muttered. “How come you get to tease me but I don’t?” </p><p>“Because you just got in the way of me and my blanket.” Antonio turned back to him so he could have more blanket, raising an arm for Lovino to curl against his chest. “Acceptable,” he added against his sternum. Antonio smiled and kissed his cheek goodnight.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This is the first time I've ever written a sort of love confession like this, and I quite enjoyed it ;) <br/>I admit writing sex scenes is EXHAUSTING to the point I'm about ready to cancel horny, so having that Freudian slip made it all the more enjoyable to write. I hope you guys liked it too! Thanks again for reading ♥</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The door of Lovino’s dressing room swung inward, revealing him there in slacks and an ill-fitting, loose shirt. His hair was half up and his cheeks were red. </p><p>“Were you running?” Antonio asked as he entered.</p><p>“What happened to hello?” Lovino asked, toeing the door shut. “It was only that I knew you were coming by now, so I wanted to be dressed and all that, but…” Antonio grinned at him but didn’t say anything more, disinterested in provoking him. </p><p>There was a comfort to Lovino’s dressing room that Antonio severely lacked in his; with the mess and Lovino’s haphazard decorating, it felt much more lived in and personal. The wall beside the miroir and its smattering of colognes and Brilliantine and half-empty tins of lip balm had two movie posters he was featured in and a photo of who Lovino with his little brother and father. Above all those was a map of Los Angeles, one that had been folded so many times it was beginning to tear at the lines.</p><p>“Clearly you caught me at a bit of a bad time,” Lovino said, gesturing to his clothes. “I’m going to change if you plan on going out.” Antonio nodded and went to look closer at the photo. “Where do you want to go?” Antonio smiled. He had given quite a bit of thought to this date, as so far their attempts at a romantic life had been disastrous. </p><p>After the dinner at his house they went out to eat, choosing a casual enough restaurant so it wouldn’t raise too many eyebrows. A few bold or careless members of the paparazzi crowded in the tables beside theirs, forcing them to turn the date into a dreary discussion of filming schedules, screen tests, and the others ins-and-outs of making a career out of acting. It proved very educational for Antonio, but work was certainly not what was on his mind that night. They had no chance to slip away to Lovino’s, either, because of all the reporters with their cameras. </p><p>Their next attempt had been a museum. Antonio had never found them very interesting, but Lovino loved them. Besides, they thought it might be more private if they snuck in without notice. This turned to be completely futile, with Lovino ending up being the star piece in every gallery they walked into. </p><p>Antonio suggested live music. They went to a simple outdoor concert first, and while it was enjoyable to be together on the lawn listening to the band, they had to keep their professionalism about them and again Lovino was hounded by people. It made Antonio want to throw something, but for Lovino it seemed only a nudge of a nuisance. </p><p>Desperate, Lovino bought tickets to an expensive orchestra to get away from the main populace, which worked, but they also couldn’t talk at a concert. </p><p>“The Hollywood Sign,” Antonio said. </p><p>“Oh, of course,” Lovino said, sighing. “I always forget you’re still new here. It’s not as pretty up close, and there are too many people around the actual sign, so I’ll take you to the top of the hill. I think you’ll like it, you can see the whole of Los Angeles from up there.” </p><p>“Where was this taken?” Antonio asked, gesturing to the photo. “I’ve always wondered.” Lovino pressed his lips together a bit, focused on buttoning his shirt. </p><p>“San Francisco,” he said. “I was sixteen. We’d never gone to California until then. Never gone much of anywhere with what my dad and I made.” Lovino raised his hand to bite at his thumb but lowered it, crossing the room to look at the photo. </p><p>“Let me guess, that was the moment you decided you wanted to be a movie star?” Antonio asked. Lovino sighed. </p><p>“I wish you would stop rooting around in my past, but yes. You have to understand how it looked to me, when I’d spent the past years living in some shithole apartment in the part of New York City no one talks about.” Lovino sighed. “I knew I could make it big, simple as that.” Antonio gave him an unconvinced look. “I did. I was willing to do whatever I had to. Luckily, I was talented and attractive enough I didn’t have to compromise my morals much. Not like you, getting into bed with me.” Lovino clicked his tongue, shaking his head. </p><p>Antonio chose to ignore this and Lovino went to finish getting dressed. “Pass me my hat, would you?” he asked. Antonio picked it up and set it on his head. Lovino made a face like he was trying to smother a smile. “That is also acceptable.” </p><p>The nights were still chilly, and Antonio dug his hands in his pockets as they walked to the car park, wishing he could hold Lovino’s hand. As soon as they were in his car and out of sight he reached over to take Lovino’s hand and place it in his lap, resting his head on Lovino’s shoulder. He nuzzled his cheek against it, trying to get as comfortable as he could. </p><p>“You have the most comfortable shoulders of anyone I’ve ever met.” </p><p>“You’re wacked in the head,” Lovino said, drawing his brows together and frowning at Antonio. He gave no notice, instead smiling up at him and bringing a light flush to rise in his face.  </p><p>“I’m appreciating things about you no one else does,” Antonio said. He let go of Lovino’s hand to hug his arm instead, curling closer to him. “Then again, I’m sure I’m the only one with the luxury to be laying on your arm, huh?” </p><p>“Don’t think you’re too special.” </p><p>“Same to you.” </p><p>“...Touché. But you have to let go or I can’t drive.” Antonio sighed but pulled back, leaning on the door. </p><p>He was taken aback by the neighborhoods they drove past as they got further into the dusty hills along Mulholland Drive. Seeing the glitter and excess of it all made Antonio wonder why Lovino didn’t live here, in this cesspool of wealthy performers and socialites. Though his apartment was a sight to behold, it was still a simple three-room penthouse. Antonio didn’t ask, though, as he didn’t feel he had the right to question Lovino about his spending. </p><p>Antonio had seen the city from above only once, when he had been in the Santa Monica Mountains with Anneliese and Gilbert. He was too drunk to remember much except for being taken aback by how <em> flat </em>the city was. The edge of it slid into view as they got further up the mountains, Lovino driving off the road to park. </p><p>He got out and offered Antonio his hand, leading him up the rise of the hill. Antonio scampered ahead of him when he saw an edge of the distant, shimmering city, not letting go of Lovino’s hand. </p><p>Antonio perched on a little outcropping of sandy rocks with scrubby plants and sage. A few feet below them were the paled edges of the Hollywood sign, and ahead the brush-covered, dusty mountains with lit-up mansions nestled in their crags and their low peaks, an aperitif for the sprawling network of lights below them. From here, the city seemed to go on forever, all the way to the horizon line, where those lights gathered and became a golden divide between the city and the sky. </p><p>Antonio’s face was full of an innocent wonder as he stared down at it all, his eyes filled with the city. </p><p>“It’s pretty, isn’t it?” Lovino asked. Antonio nodded. </p><p>“Beautiful,” he whispered. He sat down atop the rocks, denoting to Lovino he didn’t want to leave anytime soon. Lovino sat down beside him, and even though he was beside Antonio, the sight of the city made him hollow. </p><p> <b>_____________</b></p><p> </p><p>Antonio’s first thought upon waking up on New Year’s Eve was that he was being broken into. There was a loud banging on his door, and he launched himself out of bed, grabbing a candlestick from the fireplace mantel and bracing himself as he peered through the peephole. It was just Francis and Gilbert. He let out his trapped breath and put the candlestick back.  </p><p>“I thought I was about to be murdered,” Antonio said as he pulled the door open. He squinted at the clock. “It’s nine, what are you doing here?” </p><p>“A little fear is good, darling,” Francis insisted. He stepped over the threshold and shivered. “Dreadful weather,” he added, brushing the rain from his shoulders. “We’re here because we have an assortment of festivities scheduled today and we decided to bring you along.” Antonio nodded. He was so used to this sort of thing he no longer bothered to resist. Sometimes the outings were exciting, other times traumatizing, but always an adventure. He wasn’t quite sure why he hadn’t assumed the pounding on his door had been them in the first place. </p><p>They helped themselves to Antonio’s coffee while he shaved and got dressed with the attitude of someone preparing for battle. That was the attitude he had to have when they showed up on his doorstep proposing “an assortment of festivities.” </p><p>However they ended up taking him to a simple coffee shop, a warm place with brick walls, bustling with soft chatter and woodsmoke and a tarnished chandelier.</p><p>Gilbert pulled them over to the vacated chairs by the fire before anyone else could snatch them up. They were a bit sunken, made of worn, softened leather, which made them more comfortable and provided a homey effect. </p><p>“Francis will get us drinks,” he said. Francis frowned but walked over to the counter, leaving his coat over one of the seats. “We always have their hot chocolate on New Year’s Eve. They make it with this amazing hazelnut syrup, it’s <em> so good</em>.” Antonio was relieved he had found one celebration of theirs that didn’t involve day drinking. </p><p>Francis returned a bit later holding three mugs of the stuff in a way that gave Antonio a surge of anxiety. He passed them out and then sat down across from Antonio, sighing and crossing his legs. Antonio watched the play of light from the fire waver against his polished shoes, taking a tentative sip while he listened to the low, slow crackle of jazz. </p><p>“Tell me, Tony,” Gilbert began, resting the mug on his thigh. “Did you ever imagine you would be here with us this time last year?” </p><p>“I could imagine almost every other possibility,” he said. Francis chuckled.</p><p>“You watch him, something about New Year’s makes him such a sentimentalist,” he said, gesticulating with his mug. Antonio gave a subdued laugh and looked at the fire, then up at the brickwork behind it. Outside, the rain from the night previous had not let up, thick drops smattering the window and dropping off the overhang under which a few people huddled. Antonio touched the arm of his chair, realizing that this was his first year away from home during the holidays. </p><p>“Speaking of,” Francis said, “I think it’s time for the second part of our tradition. You start, Tony, you’re our guest of honor.” Antonio raised his eyebrows. “What is your greatest regret of the year?” </p><p>“Let me think about that,” he replied.</p><p>“He insists on this every year,” Gilbert said, shaking his head. “Just tell him something, make it up if you want.” </p><p>“That defeats the purpose,” Francis snapped. Antonio bit the inside of his cheek and held a brief council with the aged chandelier to come up with an answer. </p><p>“I regret almost all the sex I’ve had in LA,” Antonio said. “Remember the Fourth of July? I don’t, but I’m pretty sure I screwed a sixty-year-old.” Gilbert snorted into his cup. “Glad you found it amusing, because I do not.” </p><p>Francis leaned on his knee and grinned at Antonio. “Oh? So what sex do you not regret?” Antonio couldn’t very well say <em> Lovino! </em>so he chose not to answer. Instead he turned to Gilbert and insisted that it was his turn. </p><p>“Missing my brother’s college graduation,” he said. “I still remember what he said to me afterwards: <em> I kept looking for you, but you weren’t there, were you</em>?” Gilbert shook his head. “Don’t worry,” he added, catching sight of Antonio’s distressed face. “We patched things up. I’ve always been a disappointment to Luddy.” </p><p>“It’s true, he really is,” Francis said. </p><p>“Uh oh. Your go,” Gilbert said. “I bet fifty bucks it’s going to be about another failed romantic endeavor. It’s in your best interest not to wager against me, Tony, that would be a very poor financial decision.” </p><p>“No need to be so callous,” Francis said. “Have a heart, Gilbert. You guessed right, though, I’ve let yet another one get away.” He sighed. “A relationship would tie me down, but recently I’ve caught myself wondering if I wouldn’t prefer the domestic life over the one I have.” Gilbert nodded. </p><p>“Can I ask you both a personal question?” Antonio asked abruptly. They nodded. “Living here still feels like… not my real life. Like a vacation. That’s why I always follow you guys around wherever you take me, because I figure I have to make the most out of these months off before I go back to my boring self. But you, you’ve been living like this for <em> years </em>. Do you really enjoy living like this with all the drinking and the hangovers and the constant sleeping around…” he trailed off. </p><p>Gilbert and Francis considered him a long time, long enough Antonio began to feel he’d said the wrong thing. </p><p>“You know what? I’ve never really thought about that,” Gilbert said, an unfamiliar emptiness in his voice. “I suppose I’ve just gotten used to living like this, I never stopped to wonder if I really enjoyed it.” </p><p>“That’s what Los Angeles does to you,” Francis said. “Hollywood, really. All that cliché nonsense is true. It makes you idolize youth, and when you’re young and have your whole life ahead of you, it’s easy to imagine greatness. You’re starting to feel it too, I can tell,” he added, nodding at Antonio. “You’re getting the first hit of the most addictive drug there is, and as soon as you come down all you’ll think about is having another, stronger one.” Gilbert rolled his eyes and sipped his coco.</p><p>“You know I don’t pick up on vague references, what are you talking about?” Antonio asked.</p><p>“Fame,” Francis said. </p><p>“I don’t want to be famous,” Antonio insisted. “I’ve seen Lovino jostled around by all sorts of creeps and it seems awful.” </p><p>“Of course it does <em> now</em>. Because it’s the same as any other addiction. No one picks up a cigarette and decides they’d like a lifelong dependence on it. But eventually it will be all you can think about, needing to get more.” </p><p>“You’re scaring him, Francis,” Gilbert cut in. “Quit it. We can have these depressive conversations later—” </p><p>“I’m not done with this one yet,” Antonio interrupted. “Neither of you answered my question. Does it make you happy?” </p><p>“Maybe,” Francis said. </p><p>“Maybe,” Gilbert agreed. </p><p>“Anyway,” Francis said pointedly, “now the happier note. The best thing that’s happened to you this year.” Antonio considered. His honest first thought was his decision to get into bed with Lovino, but again that wasn’t a terribly appropriate answer, so he settled on his impulse decision to move to California. </p><p>“How sweet,” Francis said, smiling over the rim of his coco. “Let’s see… what ever could mine be?” He tapped his chin with lofty sarcasm. “Oh, possibly being accepted into one of the most prestigious colleges of clothing design in all of Europe, possibly the world.” </p><p>“You’re sure it’s not <em> me</em>?” Gilbert asked. </p><p>“Very much so, yes.” </p><p>“Fair enough,” sighed Gilbert. “I’d go with <em> finally </em>getting a major role in a picture. I’ve been trying for years, unlike some of us,” he said, looking at Antonio. “I don’t know who you slept with to get a lead like that, but give them my number.” Antonio laughed a strained, awkward laugh and hastily drank the rest of his coco. </p><p>Gilbert and Francis’s next tradition involved revisiting all the places that had held some significance that year, one of which was The Rose. It was disconcerting and really quite wrong to see it in the daylight; to Antonio, the place only existed on hot summer nights, and this was a haphazard imposter. </p><p>They had lunch at a quaint sandwich shop, and then Francis drove them to the studio and snuck into one of the back warehouses, a graveyard for costumes from old film. Francis liked to find the most outlandish outfit he could for his party-going that night while Gilbert preferred finding funny hats. </p><p>The place made Antonio uneasy with its low lightning and confused smell of dust, stale laundry detergents, and old perfumes. He followed Francis around, not wanting to be left alone to the mercy of an ax murderer lurking in the period clothing or Gilbert and a feathery top hat. Francis went digging around in a row of maddeningly similar suit jackets, finding a burgundy one that he pressed into Antonio’s hands and insisted he try on.</p><p>“Gilbert! Come look at Tony!” Francis called. His voice echoed around the place. Gilbert appeared behind a rack of slacks, wearing a violently yellow top hat. He wolf-whistled. </p><p>“Look at you, Tony,” he said. “Give us a spin, go on.” Antonio spun, winking over his shoulder at them. Francis gasped and fanned himself. Antonio blew them a kiss and Francis pretended to snatch it from the air. </p><p>“You <em> must </em> have it,” Francis said.  </p><p>“I don’t know…” Antonio muttered. “I feel bad taking what’s not mine.” </p><p>“You’re only borrowing it,” Francis insisted. “We always bring them back, you can come with us.” Gilbert scoffed loudly. </p><p>“<em>I </em>always bring things back,” he said. </p><p>“Is it so wrong to enjoy beauty?” Francis asked, then turned back to Antonio. “Wear it for tonight. You look magnificent.” He walked Antonio over to a frameless mirror propped up in the corner. “See?” he asked, grinning as Antonio smiled at his reflection. </p><p>“Gilbert! Come back. I need your opinion,” Francis said after patting Antonio on the shoulder and turning away. “You have to tell me if this one is as good as last year’s, I need to outdo myself.” Antonio turned back to them, checking his watch. </p><p>“Oh hell,” he said. Francis gave him an inquisitive look over the rack. “It’s almost four-thirty, my date is coming at five. I have to head home.” </p><p>“Sooner or later I knew you would leave us for your mystery woman,” Francis said, sighing. “That’s alright. Have fun, Tony. And make sure you drink lots of water.” </p><p>“Uh, why?” Antonio asked. </p><p>“It makes semen easier on the taste buds. Might combat the drinking and cigarettes a bit,” Francis said. “What do you think of this one?” he added to Gilbert, holding up a different jacket. </p><p>“<em>What</em>?” </p><p>“Sage advice,” Gilbert said, nodding. </p><p>“How do you know that?” Antonio asked. Francis shrugged. </p><p>“I’m trying to do your Jane Doe a favor,” Francis said. “We do get to meet her someday, don’t we, Tony?” Antonio scanned their excited faces, anxious for his response. He wondered if he could ever trust them enough to tell them the truth. He gave them a simple maybe and a shrug, heading out of the costume vault with a blazer under his arm.</p>
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<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Antonio was one his eighth glass of water when Lovino rang the doorbell. He downed the rest of it and set it down, smoothing his hair before he stood up. Lovino slipped inside, closing the door quickly before Antonio had had time to say a word. He didn’t now, instead brushed his thumb along Lovino’s jaw, coaxing him into looking up. There was a taught moment as he waited for Antonio to kiss him, but he only smiled faintly and studied Lovino’s face. </p><p>“It’s a sin more of your pictures aren’t in color. I know it’s a cliché, but you truly do have the most dazzling eyes of anyone I’ve ever seen. I mean it.” Lovino scoffed. “Hey,” Antonio murmured, holding on to Lovino’s chin lightly so he wouldn’t look away. “I know people tell you you’re gorgeous every hour of the day, but let me tell you too.” </p><p>Lovino made an amused little <em> hm </em>sound and glanced down, reaching to take Antonio’s hand and kiss his knuckles softly. Then he let go and put his hand over Antonio’s, still on his cheek, dragging his lips across Antonio’s palm.</p><p>“I like this song. Will you dance with me?” Lovino murmured. Antonio nodded, leading him into the centre of the room where there was space to move. Lovino stood close to his chest as they danced, wanting to feel his heartbeat, to smell the detergent in his clothes and the cologne on his neck. The way he wanted Antonio hurt, and he felt as if there would never be any relief, not even if Antonio came to rest beneath his ribs, up against his heart. </p><p>Antonio loved dancing with Lovino, though he would have enjoyed this particular moment far more if he didn’t have such a debilitating urge to urinate. But like a proper gentleman, he waited until the song had ended and Lovino had let go to skirt off. </p><p>“I love that song too,” he said upon returning. “It’s a Brazilian tango; <em> Amapá </em>. Fun to play on the guitar, though I don’t stay very true to the original.” </p><p>“You play the guitar?” Antonio nodded. </p><p>“Oh, yes, I love it. Have I never played for you?” Lovino shook his head. “Sit down, I’ll be right back.” Lovino nodded, lounging on the couch to wait for him.  </p><p>“I changed some of the chords to fit the Andalusian cadence,” Antonio said, settling beside him with his guitar on his lap, polished hard to hide how stripped and beaten-down it was. “I prefer the minor tetrachord, but I’ll play the major one for you too.” He sighed. “Too bad I don’t have anything here to help me tune.” </p><p>“I can do it. I’ve got perfect pitch,” Lovino said. </p><p>“You <em> do</em>?” Lovino nodded, fighting down a smile at Antonio’s excited look. Antonio gave him the pitches and Lovino hummed them softly until they got a bit high and he had to sing. “You’ve got a pretty voice,” Antonio said. “Of course you do. At this point it’s wrong of me to think you could be bad at anything.” Lovino frowned a bit at Antonio focused on the tuning pegs. “Let me guess, you write beautiful poetry in your free time—”</p><p>“Stop,” Lovino muttered. Antonio feigned deeper attention to the pegs and then cleared his throat. </p><p>“Okay, that should be good.” He adjusted it in his lap and thought for a moment, counting softly under his breath and then starting to play. As he did, Lovino’s eyes drifted to his soft smile, the one that always overwhelmed him with adoration. He seemed so happy, and that made Lovino smile the slightest bit, hiding it by laying against his shoulder. Lovino watched his fingers on the strings, feeling his shoulder shift under his cheek as he moved his hand up the frets. </p><p>Eventually his eyes went back to Antonio’s face, and he couldn’t help thinking <em> damn, I am so lucky</em>. He pulled himself a bit closer to Antonio and Antonio leaned towards him. When he had finished the song he leaned down to kiss Lovino on the top of his head. </p><p>“So, which one do you like better?” Antonio asked, setting his guitar down against the couch. </p><p>“The first one,” he said. He shifted to sit on Antonio’s lap, resting his arms over his neck. “So, where are you hiding the champagne?” At the mention of consuming more fluids, Antonio was gripped with an immobilizing wave of fear.</p><p>“It’s only about half past five,” Antonio said. Lovino nodded.</p><p>“Yes, well, I like to get drunk before the festivities really begin.” He sighed. “You know I’m missing out on a collection of ver exciting parties for you, right?” Antonio ducked his head and nodded.</p><p>“I know. You don’t have to be here if you would rather go to the parties. I won’t be offended, I’d get it.” </p><p>“You would certainly be offended,” Lovino said. “And I don’t give a rat’s ass about them. I want to be with you.” Antonio blushed and smiled, looking towards the record player. Lovino put his hand on Antonio’s face and pulled it towards himself. “I’ve had plenty of parties in my life, but I haven’t had near enough of you,” he murmured. He brushed his thumb below Antonio’s lip and then kissed him. </p><p>Antonio kissed him back, but when he broke away it was too awkwardly disentangle himself from Lovino to go to the bathroom again. Lovino sat up and looked at him apprehensively. </p><p>“Are you alright?” he asked. Antonio nodded, knowing he would be ruthlessly teased if he told the truth. When he sat back down Lovino resumed sitting in his lap, tucking his arms against his chest. “If I knew we’d be laying on the couch I would’ve worn something a little more comfortable,” Antonio noted. </p><p>“Your nice clothes should be just as comfortable as your casual wear,” Lovino said. </p><p>“Francis said the same thing,” Antonio murmured. </p><p>“Eugh, never mind,” Lovino said, his lip curling. “Give me one of your chafing, horrible suits right now.” Antonio laughed into Lovino’s shoulder, holding him tighter around the waist and nuzzling his face against Lovino’s neck. “Go change if you want, I don’t want you to be uncomfortable on my behalf,” Lovino said, stroking his hair lightly. “It was refreshing in seeing you in something nice, but really, you could stop someone’s heart if you wore a tablecloth and culottes.” Lovino felt Antonio smile against his throat. </p><p>“No, I want to keep it on. It makes me feel elegant, and I like that feeling,” he said.</p><p>“If you must.” He kissed the underside of Antonio’s jaw and down his throat, sliding his hands up Antonio’s ribs. The timer went off in the kitchen and Antonio pushed himself up. “Oh no. Did you cook?” Lovino asked. </p><p>“There’s no need for that tone,” Antonio sniffed.</p><p>“There is every need for it,” he argued. “The world is a better place when you’re not somewhere in it cooking.” </p><p>“I wish I could argue with you,” Antonio said sadly. “I know I’m an awful chef, but I put a lot of effort into this. I’ve been working on the recipe all week, I even called my mom for help. I don’t know how fancy it’ll be to you, but I’ve always liked it, and, well, I’m a little homesick,” he admitted. “I’ve never been away from home during the holidays.” </p><p>At this, Lovino decided to give him some benefit of the doubt, touched he had tried so hard. “Alright, alright. What is it?” </p><p>“<em>Discada norteña</em>. I made it earlier, but I was warming it in the oven. I’m sure it would be better fresh, but…” </p><p>The <em> norteña </em>ended up being a wonderful redemption from the Christmas “cookies” a week ago, and Antonio laughed with relief when Lovino’s eyes lit up after trying it. The food and wine left them feeling rather full and sleepy, so Lovino decided they needed coffee because he refused not to be awake to ring in the New Year. </p><p>He complained about Antonio’s lack of a coffee machine or good beans. Antonio responded to this verbal attack by sneaking his arms around Lovino’s waist, resting his chin on his shoulder, and kissing him on the cheek. Lovino blushed and huffed, giving up his protesting and doing what he could, all while Antonio was still hanging onto him. It made everything significantly more difficult, but Lovino didn’t ask Antonio to let go. He didn’t want him to. The whole thing felt like odd choreography; Lovino moving around the kitchen with Antonio stepping along behind him, pecking Lovino on the cheek or jaw every so often.  </p><p>“You make it so difficult to be pissy with,” Lovino grumbled.</p><p>“Hmm?” Antonio hummed against the side of his neck. Lovino shook his head and focused on the coffee. </p><p>They went into Antonio’s room to drink it, listening to the noise from out in the streets of drunk partygoers. Antonio enjoyed sitting beside Lovino and drinking his coffee, listening to the noise outside but not having to speak. Usually he felt pressure to say something when it got quiet, but never with Lovino. He had finished his coffee and was laying against Antonio’s thigh, tracing shapes along his knee. </p><p>Antonio’s stomach bit down suddenly as he wondered what he would be doing now if he hadn’t gone into that bar back in June, or never bothered to give Lovino a smile and chance talking to him. They could have lived their life as parallel lives, or become another set of strangers standing beside each other, sharing the simple connection of a train schedule or admiration over art in a gallery. </p><p>Part of Antonio wanted to say something about his thoughts to Lovino, but he didn’t know how to organize them into coherent sentences. He couldn’t even name the feeling. It was like fear—astonishment—wonder—any word he thought of fell short. </p><p>Instead of speaking he gathered Lovino up in his arms and kissed him, hoping that might somehow convey something of his thoughts. Lovino smiled underneath his mouth, sighing when Antonio broke away and kissed him across the collarbones, holding Lovino’s shoulder blades. </p><p>When he leaned back, Antonio didn’t move away. He rested his forehead against Lovino’s and left his eyes closed, paying attention to the rhythm of his own breath. Lovino ran a finger up his axis bone. Antonio longed for Lovino so much that just that simple touch and his faint breath against Antonio’s lips made his body go weak. </p><p>“What am I supposed to do with you?” Lovino groaned, putting his hands on Antonio’s shoulders. Antonio rested his chin on his chest and looked up at him. “Ew, don’t look at me from that angle. And we’ve got two more hours. Let’s go open the champagne.” </p><p>Antonio nodded and got up, following Lovino into the kitchen. He entrusted Lovino to opening the champagne, and while he did Antonio leaned on the counter and grinned at him dazedly. </p><p>“What?” Lovino asked. </p><p>“I love you,” Antonio said. Lovino set the champagne bottle down and smiled at him.</p><p>“Come here,” he murmured. Antonio walked over to him, slightly apprehensive. Lovino stood on his tiptoes and kissed the corner of his mouth. “I love you too.” </p>
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<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter 12</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Antonio fumbled for the chirping alarm clock, giving it a hearty slap to shut it off. He pressed his face back into the pillows, sighing a sigh that morphed into a groan when Lovino shook his shoulder. </p><p>“You’ve got work, don’t you?” </p><p>“Not until evening,” Antonio mumbled, turning his cheek but not opening his eyes. </p><p>“Excellent, then you can stay for a bit,” Lovino said. Antonio nodded, rolling onto his side and holding the bunched-up blanket to his chest. Goosebumps formed on his skin as Lovino grazed his fingers along the light hair at his nape. He drew his pointer finger down his spine, making Antonio pull his shoulder blades together. Lovino kissed them, following the hard curve of bone. </p><p>He put a hand on Antonio’s ribs, easing him on his back to run his fingers down Antonio’s chest, swirling them in circles over his stomach. Antonio gave a low, silken sigh, turning his face towards the fine strand of early sun falling through a gap in the curtains. </p><p>The light brought out the faults in his skin and highlighted the edge of his Cupid’s bow, varnished his lashes with gold leaf. Lovino admired the sight for a few brief moments, then slid his open hand down Antonio’s stomach, along the inside of his thigh. He braced himself there and leaned down to press his tongue flat to the underside of Antonio’s dick. </p><p>Antonio twitched and squeaked low in his throat, opening his eyes. </p><p>“<em>Lovino</em>,” he gasped. “How are you horny this early?” </p><p>“I suppose it’s one of the many gifts I’m endowed with,” he said. </p><p>“Can I have some coffee first?” Antonio mumbled. </p><p>“I suppose.” Lovino got up and stretched, pulling the curtains open before going into the kitchen. </p><p>He was glancing at his distorted reflection in the silver of the tap when he heard the phone ring and went to answer it, wondering who would be calling so early. A curt voice was on the other line.</p><p>“<em>Is Mr. Vargas speaking?” </em>Lovino confirmed it was. <em>“I am Basch Zwingli, I’m Feliks Łukasiewicz’s</em> <em> attorney.” </em>Lovino squinted at the receiver. Possibly the last person he had expected was a lawyer. <em>“Mr. Łukasiewicz tells me that you signed up for the Armed Services and intend to go overseas to fight at the end of the month, is that correct?” </em></p><p>“Yes,” Lovino said. “Is there a problem?” </p><p>
  <em> “Your most recent filming contract for him won’t be renewed until the end of January 1942. If you breach the contract, my client has the right to monetary compensation and the right to terminate it.”  </em>
</p><p>“It’s not as if I can control when my number is up,” Lovino said with a scoff.</p><p><em> “We’ve been told that it has </em>.” Lovino swallowed and held a little tighter to the receiver, some of the content arrogance fading from him. He glanced towards his bedroom, where he could see Antonio had rolled back onto his stomach, his arm over the side of the mattress. </p><p>“H-how much monetary compensation, anyway?” Lovino asked, still looking over at him. </p><p><em> “We haven’t decided on a number, since we’re hoping to settle this without going to court.” </em>Lovino glared at the phone. He hadn’t expected Feliks to stick his foot out about him joining the army, even less that the Army would stoop for Hollywood.</p><p>“We don’t have to go to court; I won’t break contract,” Lovino said. “Tell him I’ll talk to the officials and get my term postponed until February. And don’t call people this goddamn early,” he hissed, slamming the phone down. After a moment he picked it back up and tried to call the recruitment office, but he got no answer. </p><p>He returned to the kitchen to make the coffee and brought it to his room, discovering Antonio had fallen back asleep. Lovino set the cups down on the bedside table and kissed him on the cheek. Antonio didn’t know he was going off to war. Should he tell him now, or wait? What was the kinder thing to do? Lovino collapsed on the edge of his bed and stared at the floor. Never once in his life did he know the kinder of two options, and did not know it any more now. </p><p>Turning to look over his shoulder, Lovino put a hand on Antonio’s cheek, brushing his thumb against his cheekbone. Antonio eyelids fluttered and he looked up and smiled. Lovino’s hand shook as he leaned down and kissed the spot between Antonio’s eye and nose, pressing his forehead to his when he leaned back. He seemed so happy. Blissful in ignorance. </p><p>Maybe it would hurt less if Lovino told him right before he left, a sharp, shocking, jarring pain that would numb quickly. Or should he tell him now, let that pain become a stubborn gnawing that would only strengthen as his day of departure approached?</p><p>Lovino trusted he knew what Antonio would prefer, so he promised himself to tell Antonio that night. </p><p>So when evening came they went up to the Hollywood sign and sat amongst the scrubby grass, with Lovino heavy and hurting but Antonio happily talking about his lunch with Amelia and Mameko.</p><p>“Mameko’s an amazing cook, have you ever tried her cooking? I bet you’re going to make some joke about me not knowing what good food is, but really. Amelia says in a few more months she should have enough to buy some little place to open a restaurant, and if she does, we should go together on opening night! Plus, with your fame, you would draw lots of people, and…” Antonio trailed off at Lovino’s stoic expression. He was unmoving, staring at the back of the sign.</p><p>“Hey.” Antonio nudged his arm with his. “Are you okay, sweetheart?” Lovino pinched his eyes shut and inhaled. “Lovi?” Antonio put a hand on his arm. Lovino looked down at it, and it took all the fortitude he had ever had to meet Antonio’s eyes. </p><p>“I was drafted. I leave for San Diego the first week of February. On the fourteenth I leave for Belgium.” Lovino had to look away. He couldn’t stand Antonio’s expression, everything in it so helpless, pleading for Lovino to tell him it wasn’t true. It made the fault lines in his heart shake and threaten to split. </p><p>“I’m sorry, Antonio.” His breath caught on the back of his throat and and his eyes welled so the everything turned to a daze.</p><p>“W-what?” he stammered. Antonio grabbed his other arm and turned Lovino towards him. “Belgium?” His voice cracked. He was going to cry. Lovino closed his eyes. Those fault lines shook again and this time they broke apart. </p><p>“It’s okay. I want to fight.” Antonio stared. </p><p>“<em>Why</em>? <em> Why </em> would you <em> want </em>to?” he demanded. </p><p>“To defend my country.” </p><p>“It’s not <em> your </em>country. You’re from Italy! Besides, this isn’t America’s war. Let Europe deal with it. The American military is terrible anyway, the Japanese showed us that—” </p><p>“I’ve lived in America a lot longer than Italy. I don’t have Italian citizenship anymore, I’m American,” Lovino retaliated. “And it’s irresponsible for us to make Britain fight on their own. They need our help.” Antonio shook his head, staring down at the city. </p><p>“You’re right. I’m sorry,” Antonio muttered. His voice was muted, defeated. He slowly stood up. “Will you please take me home?” </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>_____________</b>
</p><p> </p><p>Antonio woke with a bitter mood that only worsened as the day went on. He botched his lines and his performance slipped, causing everyone to get frustrated with him and snap. He argued with Arthur to the point one of the interns had to drag Arthur off set and feed him half a bagel to get him to calm down. </p><p>Even Gilbert was irked with him, though he tried to hide it. He caught up with Antonio after filming and hung an arm over his shoulders. </p><p>“Tony, you have to stay focused,” he said. “This picture is going to be in theatres, it’s going to be big—”</p><p>“What?” Antonio asked. “Lovino told me it was some one-off propaganda film.”</p><p>“Well, it’s still a propaganda film, but I bet now they’re going to want it everywhere to entice people to join the army.” Antonio nodded but didn’t respond. Gilbert frowned and jumped in front of him. “Okay, Tony, what is going on with you?” </p><p>Antonio wasn’t sure if he could be honest or not. But he didn’t like to lie. “Lovino’s going to war,” he started. </p><p>“I know, I heard.” Gilbert cut in. “But I doubt we’ll be drafted. If we are, Hollywood will wave our contracts around or something like that. Hopefully.” </p><p>It occured to Antonio then that he should be concerned about the draft. He hadn’t given it much thought before; it didn’t affect him, given that he was Mexican, but Francis and Gilbert and all the other young men he knew at the studio could be. </p><p>In fact, just the next day half a dozen men were missing from the set. Mameko was gone too, so Antonio tracked down Amelia that evening to ask about her. </p><p>He found her sitting on a stack of crates filled with props and pieces for set design, swinging her legs and looking up at the California winter sunset. There was a half-empty pack of Lucky Strikes beside her. There was an unlit one between her teeth, and when she leaned down to light it Antonio saw the glint of drying tear tracks on her cheeks.<br/>
“Amelia!” Antonio called. Amelia stuffed the cigarettes down her dress and climbed down. </p><p>“What do you want, old man?” she grouched. </p><p>“What happened to Mameko? I noticed she wasn’t here today.” Amelia threw her just-lit cigarette at the ground and stamped it out, then lit herself another. She took several drags, leaning against the back of the crates. She blew smoke in Antonio’s face and he recoiled. </p><p>“She got fired.” </p><p>“What? Why?” Antonio asked. Amelia leaned forward. </p><p>“Why do you goddamn think?” she yelled. “These people have shit for brains.” Amelia turned around and gave the crate a hard kick. Then she punched it. </p><p>“Amelia!” Antonio reached to catch her wrist, but she pulled away.</p><p>“I’m fine,” her voice was breathy with held-back tears. The anger left her eyes and all that was left was that same hopeless hurt that had been on Antonio’s face the night before. She turned to scuttle back up the storage crates. “Are you looking up my skirt, you piece of shit?” </p><p>“No, no!” Antonio said. “I… I was just thinking.” </p><p>“Well, go think somewhere else.” </p><p>Antonio turned away from her, heading towards the parking lot. He found Lovino there, unlocking his car. For a moment they stood at a silent impasse, then Antonio said, </p><p>“Why don’t we get some coffee?” Lovino nodded. </p><p>“Let’s take my car.” </p><p>“Okay.” Antonio leaned on the window and watched the neon drift by the windows, struggling to catch bits of stranger’s faces and the way the palms moved in the wind that traveled from the distant Pacific. </p><p>Lovino stopped the car at an uninspired-looking little coffee shop. Everything about it was cramped, and the wood was stained from salty ocean air and too much time. Antonio supposed Lovino had taken him here because no one would see them, because such a run down place would never be on Lovino’s roster to visit otherwise. </p><p>Despite the outside, inside it was warm and smelled of newly roasted and ground coffee beans, built more like a bar than a coffee shop.  </p><p>“Evening, Mr. Vargas.” There was a woman behind the counter, polishing the coffee machine. Lovino nodded at her. “You want to sit out back? Doppio?” Lovino nodded, holding up two fingers and then reaching out his hand. She pulled a set of keys from her pocket. Lovino started for a door behind a grubby little table, inclining his head to Antonio when he didn’t follow. </p><p>The deck was lit by a few warm gas lamps, and it looked out towards the distant promise of Beverly Hills. “I like this place,” Antonio murmured when Lovino sat back down. </p><p>“I thought you might.” </p><p>“How did you find it?” he added.</p><p>“The woman who runs it is my dad’s old friend. She lets me in here in the evenings and keeps everyone else out.” He went quiet as the door opened and she walked out with two espressos. Antonio muttered a thank you as well, leaning on his hand and watched Beverly Hills twitch and glint and wink at him through the narrow palm trunks, taking a deep breath of the subtle spice of a Los Angeles December. </p><p>“Are we going to talk about…” Antonio started. </p><p>“If we must,” Lovino said. </p><p>“I’m sorry I was rude to you. I was upset.” </p><p>“You still are.” </p><p>“A bit.”</p><p> Lovino sighed. “I… so am I,” he muttered. “It’s not that I <em> want </em>to go to war—” </p><p>“You said you did last night.” Lovino sighed again, more shallow. </p><p>“Fine. You’re right, I do want to fight, but I don’t… I mean…” he stared at the table and blushed. “Listen, Antonio, I’m no good with words, you know that, but…” Antonio raised his eyebrows. “I don’t know what I’m going to do without you.” He bit his lip and shrugged, looking up towards the navy sky. “I don’t.”  </p><p>“You’ve lived a long time without me,” Antonio said.</p><p>“I’m well aware of that, I just…” Lovino started. He leaned forward. Sighed. Swallowed. “I need to say this but you cannot respond, okay?” Antonio raised his eyebrows. “All… I mean, the whole time I was a teenager, I guess, all those years in New York, all I wanted to do was grow up. I wanted to move out of New York and get a job. I kept dreaming about moving to Los Angeles. Having real friends. Being… being happy again. Falling love. </p><p>“I wanted to fall in love so bad, I can’t even explain it to you, whenever I let myself think about it it… it took me over, I couldn’t think about anything else. So when I finally did, a few times, I thought that was what I had wanted forever. I thought finally, I had everything I wanted. But I was wrong. You were the person I ached for all the time. And I can’t believe I just said all that and I don’t want you to respond but I had to say it.” </p><p>“Lovino…”<br/>
“I said don’t say anything.” Lovino snapped. He drank his coffee hurriedly. “Since I met you I’ve really had it all. I’ve been so happy. Really. But now I’m going to lose it all, but I… I’ve got no choice.” He shivered. “I’ll come see you before I leave. I promise. I’ll sneak out of San Diego and drive over.” Antonio smiled, reaching across the table to take Lovino’s hand. Lovino sighed and squeezed his hand hard. </p><p>Even though Lovino had promised him, when the day came that he appeared at the Stage door just after Antonio was leaving the set, he thought he had imagined him. The warehouse-like Stages still had a field day with his head and often drew false details from the blackness, eerie enough to make Antonio’s spine tingle. So when he saw Lovino leaning against the wall, facing the dark set, he worried he had seen a ghost. </p><p>"Hello,” Lovino murmured. Antonio stared at him. “Congratulations. I heard filming wrapped up this afternoon," he said. Antonio hurried over to him and hugged him. Lovino pushed himself up on his tiptoes and kissed his cheek.</p><p>“Lovino…” Antonio pressed his hands to Lovino’s face. </p><p>“I said I would visit before I left.” He kissed Antonio’s palm, then his mouth. But he may as well have been the warehouse pulling at his exhausted imagination, because after that kiss he said goodbye and left Antonio alone in the dim darkness, in front of the spent set. </p><p>Antonio drove up into the hills, dazed over the end of filming and seeing Lovino after preparing himself to never see him again. He sat on the edge of the hill that looked down on the back of the Hollywood sign, where he had gone with Lovino all those weeks ago. Even now, in February, it smelled like the desert, but there was no heat. The sage and scrub brush were brittle, varying shades of brown, easily breakable between two fingers. </p><p>He watched a car trundle along the road, its headlights slipping in and out of view between the small trees and bushes. Up in the cold, staring down at the swathe of lights that was the city of Los Angeles, he felt he was alone in the whole city, the whole world. </p><p>Antonio stared back down at Los Angeles. “Please let him come home safe,” he whispered into the bitter air. There was no one to answer, but that grid of lights below him kept on sparkling as if it had been listening. </p>
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<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Chapter 13</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I deleted this note but I typically write my stuff ahead of time and update it weekly, but I'm juggling a lot right now and would prefer to not have to pay attention to more than one fic at the moment, so that's why I posted it all at once.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Have I seen you before?” Lovino didn’t bother looking up from doing his laces. He had been asked that question so many times that he heard it even when no one asked. There was no point answering anyway, because someone would inevitably say, <em> that’s Lovino Vargas! </em> It came before he finished tying his boot. </p><p>“Oh,” he said as Lovino sat up, leaning against the wall of the cart. It rustled and bumped along the uneven dirt road, making everyone jitter and knock against one another. </p><p>“My girlfriend loves your pictures,” said the man beside the private. “I used to want to pop a cap in your ass, ‘cause she seemed like she loved you more than she ever would me.” Lovino didn’t respond, instead picked up his gun and set to cleaning it with an oil-stained rag that would likely make it grimier. </p><p>“Hey, pal, you’re not some hotshot movie star anymore,” piped up another ragged private, punching Lovino on the shoulder. “You’re the same as the rest of us now, so quit actin’ like you’re better.” </p><p>“I’m not,” Lovino said. “I’m not wasting my time on your dumbass conversation.” </p><p>“You don’t want to talk about girls? What are you, a pansy?” </p><p>“You weren’t talking about girls,” Lovino said, refusing to let his eyes leave the gun, an M1 Carbine that was laden with wintry mud, too heavy in his hands. “You were talking about me, which I believe makes you the pansy.” </p><p>Lovino was grabbed by the collar. He dug his fingers into the carbine, palms slicking up with sweat and his pulse jumping in his neck. </p><p>“What’d you say?” Lovino glanced up and glared at the red-faced, roughed-up private holding onto his uniform. </p><p>“I said you’re a fag,” Lovino spat. </p><p>“You’re one to talk,” he said. “It’s odd a star like you don’t have a girl.” He sneered at Lovino. </p><p>“Because I don’t need one. Seems I can have any one I want, including that prick’s,” he said, nodding at the first private, who sat up. </p><p>“I’m gonna feed you straight to a goddamn kraut,” he hissed. “Let him go, Davis, let me at him.” Davis released him, and Lovino’s grip on the carbine stiffened. His nape prickled with sweat and his tongue tasted bitter. </p><p>“<em>Tsk</em>, oh, you wouldn’t do that—think of how sad your girlfriend would be if I died. Who’s she going to get off to without me to fantasize about?” </p><p>At this, he stood up and aimed a punch at Lovino, but was yanked back into his seat by a British Staff Sergeant. His expression was austere steel, and his uniform was too well-pressed, his gear too clean. “Shut up, all of you,” he snapped, focusing on Lovino. “Especially you. Stop riling everyone up.” Lovino decided not to argue that he had not started it. </p><p>“Come on, Abel, let us have some fun with the little boy.”<br/>
“I’m older than you,” Lovino started, but Abel gave him a warning look, so he shut his mouth and went back to scrubbing his greasy gun. Someone touched his forearm lightly. </p><p>“So sorry about all them,” he muttered. His tone was light, the cadence easy after all the harsh, discordant speech of the others. The sound put Lovino at ease, if only a little. “They’ll warm up to you, I promise. They think they need to come on strong to the newcomers to put them in their place and aren’t used to getting anything back. I’m Félix,” he added, offering a hand. Lovino shook it.</p><p>Like Abel, Félix wore a British uniform but didn’t have an English accent; it sounded closer to German. </p><p>“I remember during peacetime we had a picture show with a few American films in my town. You were in one, though you were much younger. You’re very talented.” </p><p>“Thank you,” Lovino said. He nodded. “Where are you from?” </p><p>“Esch-Uelzecht,” he said. “Luxembourg. I joined the British army before the war broke out, as I figured we wouldn’t have much of a fighting chance against the Germans.” He laughed sadly. “Would you like a cigarette? They’re Belgas.” Lovino nodded, setting his gun down. </p><p>Félix leaned against the wall of the cart, closing his eyes as he took a long drag. He held the smoke in for a few seconds before gradually exhaling. He offered Lovino a lighter. </p><p>The remainder of the ride was relatively quiet, though the two privates kept giving Lovino scathing looks that made him anxious. He avoided them in the canteen, forcing down a bit of stale bread and beans. No meat this time, he was disappointed to find. </p><p>After dinner he stood around back of the canteen, looking out at the dark countryside, dead with winter. He was sure it was a lovely place in the summer when the grass was full and green, the trees luxuriant with leaves, birds singing, a warm breeze stirring the wildflowers. But now it was dull and ochre and empty. </p><p>He itched for a cigarette, but he didn’t want to go through his too quickly. Trying to distract himself, he rewrapped his bread in a handkerchief, tucking it back into his inside pocket for a snack. Here the cold cut deep, especially when the wind blew in from the distant north, perhaps off the ocean. Lovino pulled his collar up and sunk his hands into his pockets, returning to the barracks.</p><p>They looked almost cozy in the winter night, lit inside from low light and buzzing with talk. But they were drafty, and smelled of sweat and the damp. </p><p>Lovino laid down on his uncomfortable bed, raising his cold hands to his lips. They were chapped and dirty. He was filthy all over, he could feel it, but there was no place to wash. It was too cold anyway. </p><p>The mattress was so thin Lovino may as well have slept on a plywood sheet. He liked to lay on his side, but his shoulder and hip were bruised from sleeping like that so often, so he was forced to settle on his back. He knew better than to complain, but he couldn’t stand the stiff beds and the unrelenting layer of dirt on his skin. </p><p>It was times like these, when he was uncomfortable but from such simple things, that he wished he had never left Los Angeles. He had done little since coming to Belgium but dig trenches and endure horrible wagon rides, which felt like little use. He had never seen the front, not even a glimpse of a German panzer. The soldiers who had been to the front would convince him that was better. But he wanted to <em> do </em>something, be useful. </p><p>Above him, the man on the top bunk was chatting with Félix, who Lovino was quickly discovering to be most everyone’s favorite. </p><p>“That’s her,” he said, leaning over the edge to pass Félix a photograph. Lovino turned his face to the wall. Did these men only talk about their girlfriends? Well, no, they talked about the war quite a bit too. Sex and war were really the only available conversation topics.</p><p>Lovino supposed he couldn’t blame them, though. There wasn’t much else to talk about that didn’t hurt to discuss. The Army was at some fault too, handing out a generous supply of condoms to all of them, which sparked most peoples’ excitement about all the sexual endeavors they could indulge in Europe. For the first few hours after, discussions centered solely around Europe’s supposed progressiveness and complaints about America’s obscenity laws. </p><p>During all this, Lovino had tried to swap his for cigarettes, but had been denied. The officers insisted he would want them. He insisted right back that he had a girlfriend and no plan to be unfaithful towards her. Again they waved him off, saying he would change his mind. </p><p>With a sigh Lovino propped himself up on his elbow. He hadn’t brought any photos. Definitely not of Antonio. What was he doing, across the ocean in Los Angeles? </p><p>The sun would be out and warm, just past its peak in the sky. That was the time Antonio liked to open the windows and nap in the sunspot on his bed, which he always told Lovino was his favorite part of the day and had been home in Mexico as well. He had pushed his bed beside the window so he could curl in that sunspot or sprawl out on his stomach, smiling faintly until sleep slackened his expression.</p><p>Lovino would slip underneath his arms and curl into a ball against his chest, smiling into his shirt when Antonio rustled and linked his arms around Lovinos back, nuzzling into his hair before sighing. When he was a little more awake, he would rub Lovino’s neck or stroke his back, and Lovino felt it in his chest when he gave a slight laugh at Lovino’s borrowing against him. </p><p>Sometimes Lovino would cradle Antonio’s head to his heart, his legs on his waist, and Antonio would run his fingers down his thigh while Lovino pet his hair. Lovino hadn’t really enjoyed napping until he started dating Antonio. </p><p>He hoped it was sunny in Antonio’s room in Los Angeles, that he was dozing in the warmth, happy. Lovino wanted to write to him, but he didn’t know what to say. There was too much to think about, but not enough to discuss. Besides, he was too cold, too tired from all the digging and marching and shoving the cart when it got stuck in the slushy mud. He should just go to sleep. </p><p>“Hey, Lovino.” Lovino glanced over to see Abel standing beside his bed, hands braced on the upper bunk. “Come with me, I need your help.” Lovino wasn’t in a particularly generous, helping mood, but he feared being on Abel’s bad side, especially now that he was looking at his flexed arms. After shrugging his coat on and stepped into his boots, he followed Abel outside to the officer’s huts. He stopped outside one of the more decrepit ones. </p><p>“Stay outside,” he ordered. Before Lovino could object or ask any questions, Abel stuffed a few cigarettes into his hand and went in, leaving Lovino to shiver on the doorstep. He lit one to alleviate his craving and the encroaching boredom.</p><p>What was he supposed to do out here? Watch the door, he guessed, but he had been given no explicit instruction. What was Abel doing, anyway? Was he a prostitute? Lovino scoffed at himself. Not every illicit exchange involved sex. </p><p>Lovino only waited for several minutes, watching the dark landscape. A few times he thought he saw the lights of a plane, but when he tried to get a better look at them they were gone. He took to pacing, halfway through his cigarette when Abel reappeared. He held a small envelope which he tucked in his pocket but kept his hand on, beckoning Lovino to follow him and starting towards the neighboring building. </p><p>“What is that?” Lovino asked. </p><p>“Porn.” </p><p>“You made me stand guard for you to get <em> porn</em>?” Lovino asked, irritated. </p><p>“Yes, but it’s not for me. I’m getting myself a new pair of gloves.” Lovino scoffed. “That Irish lieutenant has a stash of shit the hospital orderlies take off people in field hospitals. He’s got some nice sheepskin gloves from Sweden, and he’ll only trade for this type of pornography. Won’t even take my dope. It’s hard to get your hands on this stuff, but luckily there’s more than one pervert in this place.” </p><p>“What is it?” Lovino asked. </p><p>“Nothing you want to look at,” Abel said. Lovino’s morbid curiosity was let down, but he didn’t ask to see it. </p><p>“Why did you want me to come with you?” </p><p>“Need someone to keep watch, because this is a frowned upon trade. That’s why I asked you, because you’re a celebrity and I figured you were easily compromisable. Félix is too much of a moralist. Thinks it’s unethical to take the belongings of the dead and dying, but it’s not as if they can use them.” </p><p>“What sort of things?” </p><p>“Anything and everything. Watches, boots, alcohol, cigarettes, food…” Abel paused in front of the door. “Wait out here. If anyone asks to come in, tell them the commandant’s busy.” Lovino nodded. Abel went inside and returned several minutes later wearing a handsome set of leather gloves. He dropped a pack of Gold Flake into Lovino’s cold hands. Lovino stared. The box hadn’t even been opened yet. </p><p>“Pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Vargas.” </p><p>“Likewise.”</p>
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<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Chapter 14</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I deleted this note but I typically write my stuff ahead of time and update it weekly, but I'm juggling a lot right now and would prefer to not have to pay attention to more than one fic at the moment, so I'm going to update the rest of this over the next few days.</p><p>My next Spamano fic will not be this heavy, I promise! It's a priest AU</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Antonio listened to the phone ringing through the quiet emptiness of his apartment. He didn’t pick it up. He was lying on top of his made bed, staring at the ceiling while he made his way through a little bottle of non-alcoholic gin. He didn’t want to get drunk but needed the motion of drinking, and it had to be something with more personality than water. </p><p>He knew he should pick up. It was likely the agent Lovino had set him up with, and if Lovino were there he would’ve smacked him upside the head for not answering. But he wasn’t. </p><p>Even so, Antonio forced himself up and got the phone, catching it on the final ring. It was indeed the agent. Someone wanted Antonio to do a screen test for a story about an eccentric clockmaker in Vienna. Antonio admitted that he didn’t know if he was skilled enough to play such a character, but she clarified the director didn’t want him for that role. He wanted Antonio to play his son who dies horribly in the first fifteen minutes to motivate the protagonist. </p><p>Antonio sighed. Back to playing dead bodies. But Lovino had told him to take any role he could get, so he accepted and got the details for the audition. Then he called Francis, who had insisted Antonio had to tell him as soon as he was in another picture. </p><p><em> “What?” </em> Francis cried. <em> “I will </em> not <em> stand for that. The dead son is a job for Gilbert, not you! You deserve to play the hero again. You could be the one to give clockmakers sex appeal, I’m sure of it.”  </em></p><p>“Lovino told me to agree to any job I could get. He said to keep acting, even if I play a dead body,” Antonio said. Francis hummed softly in agreement. </p><p><em> “Sweet Lovi was your guiding light, wasn’t he?” </em>Antonio nodded, imagining the look on Lovino’s face if he knew Francis had referred to him as “sweet Lovi.” </p><p>“Yes, he was,” Antonio murmured. </p><p><em> “Perhaps something a little more?” </em> Antonio bristled and tightened his grip on the phone. <em> “I won’t say a word if he is. And I know you have no reason to believe that, given all the tidbits I tell you and Gilbert, but I mean it sincerely.”  </em></p><p>Antonio wanted to tell him. He wanted someone to pour his sore heart out to. Besides, Francis was always drowning himself and Gilbert with his tales of heartbreak and longing, he would understand how it felt to miss someone like this. But Francis did like to talk. If he ruined Antonio’s life that would be one thing, but if he affected Lovino’s in any way, Antonio would never forgive himself. Francis sounded earnest, though. Antonio trusted him. </p><p>“Yes,” he muttered, and it was the most relieving thing he had said in his life. “And while I’m being honest, my name isn’t Tony, and I’m not from Arizona. My name is Antonio, and I’m from Mexico.” </p><p><em> “Intriguing!” </em> Francis said. <em> “And as for Lovino, how long have you been with him?”  </em></p><p>“In what way?” </p><p><em> “In what way?” </em> Francis echoed. <em> “Why don’t you start from the beginning.” </em>Antonio smiled a bit despite how sick with worry he felt. He wanted to tell Francis everything, to sit here and talk about Lovino until the dawn went down to day. Antonio had been deprived the opportunity to brag about his boyfriend long enough, and saturated his story with it. The whole tale took a rather long time to get through because Francis really was a terrible listener. </p><p><em> “He must really love you,” </em> Francis said. <em> “The longest relationship I can remember him being in was three weeks.”  </em></p><p>“You think so?” Antonio asked. Francis laughed. </p><p><em> “You are a man in love,” </em>he mused. </p><p>“When did you meet Lovino, anyway? It seems you’ve known each other a long time.” </p><p><em> “Yes, because I’m old,” </em> Francis said sadly. <em> “Though I will never reveal my age, I can say I was an apprentice in the costume department when Lovino showed up. I have never seen such determination in anyone’s face as I did that day. He scared me a little, because he seemed like the sort of person to beat you into the ground for looking at them wrong. It seems silly now—he was only sixteen and so scrawny.  </em></p><p><em> “After his audition I asked him where he got his suit, because I recall it being very nice. He told me to fuck off. He didn’t want to be friends with anybody. He was my least favorite type of person escaping to the West Coast; someone who has a little talent and lets it get to their head. They think they </em> deserve <em> to become famous, that they’ve earned it for whatever reason. Most of those people come from working-class families from small towns, and they’ve dreamed about making it big their whole lives. Most don’t. Sure, they have talent, but talent requires honing, and a lot of them won’t hear of it. Not Lovino.”  </em></p><p>“That surprises me,” Antonio said. </p><p>
  <em> “Why?”  </em>
</p><p>“He can be very entitled.” </p><p><em> “Yes, but I understand why. It’s probably hard for him to remember he’s human when he’s got crowds of worshippers around him everywhere he goes, not that that excuses his behavior.” </em> Antonio nodded, amused that Francis was offering a critique on arrogance. <em> “He’s very different from when he was younger. He was a tough kid, he didn’t take anything from anyone, would bite your head off over nothing. He’s calmed down since then.”  </em></p><p>Antonio shuddered to think of this feral version of Lovino from several years past. “What type am I? Of people who come to LA, I mean.” </p><p><em> “Now don’t get snappy with me,” </em> he warned. <em> “But you’re one of those virgin types that come thinking this place is going to change their life. Usually they want fame, but don’t seek it, and they get sucked into everything far too fast and fall too hard. I’d say three-fourths of them ruin their lives and go home. You’re one of the lucky ones. Los Angeles bought you Lovino, and you were even luckier to sleep with him and get him to pull strings for you.”  </em></p><p>“I know I was lucky,” Antonio said, hoping Francis knew that he meant it and wasn’t being short. “What about you and Gilbert?” </p><p>
  <em> “Gilbert was a bit like both of you. He came here from Pennsylvania with the willful, change-my-life attitude as you, but also believing he had the talent to make it big. I am a Los Angelite, born and raised.”  </em>
</p><p>“You told me you were from France.” </p><p><em> “I am. My family is from Marseille, but they moved before I was born. They live in Québec now,” </em> he added. <em> “And I don’t mean to be rude, but what time is it?”  </em></p><p>“Just past ten.” </p><p><em> “Hell. I’ve got to go, but I’ll talk to you when you come to audition.” </em>Antonio nodded and hung up, feeling better. He showered and made himself coffee, then drove to the studio to pick up the script. He holed up in his dressing room to read through it, interrupted by Gilbert. </p><p>“If it isn’t the clockmaker’s son!” he said, ruffling Antonio’s hair. Antonio shoved him off. “Francis told me,” he explained. </p><p>“Are you going to The Rose tonight?” Antonio asked. Gilbert shook his head.</p><p>“No, my brother is visiting. I have to pick him up soon, speaking of, unless you want to pick him up for me.” </p><p>“Didn’t you say you wanted to be there for your brother more?” </p><p>“Damnit Tony, why do you have to hold me accountable for the things I say? Francis never does.” Gilbert shook his head. “Alright, here I go, off to stop disappointing my brother.” Gilbert gave a jaunty wave and left Antonio to the script. He kept his mind of his excitement about filming again to distract himself from thoughts of Lovino, which so far proved an effective strategy. </p><p>Antonio couldn’t get enough of being on set. He loved the bustle of people and the lights in his face and the cameras pointed at him, the smell of makeup and heat and sweat. There were always interesting people around with exciting dreams that Antonio was happy to hear about. Of all those people, only a handful were from Los Angeles. Most of them were from other states, and a select few from other countries, one of those being María José Aguilar from Mexico. </p><p>He found the name vaguely familiar, and he spent a good part of the afternoon trying to remember where he’d heard it. Then it came to him: she was the costume designer, the one whose brother had been killed by the police after the La Placita raid. He asked her to a friendly coffee at the same place he had gone on New Year’s Eve.</p><p>“Where are you from?” </p><p>“Mexico City,” she said. “You?” </p><p>“Guanajuato,” Antonio said. “Can we speak in Spanish? I miss it.” She smiled and nodded. Speaking with her made Antonio realized how exhausting his homesickness was, and soon his excitement in the conversation dropped out some and he encouraged her to keep talking. It was good to talk to someone who really understood his situation, how tiring it was to move countries and the exhaustion of culture shock and missing home. </p><p>“Lovino’s from Italy, but he moved so young,” Antonio insisted. “Plus he was with his family, so I’m sure he still got some exposure to his home culture. Here, I don’t get that.” </p><p>“Yes, I know what you mean!” María said. “I got so exhausted my first month here. I was always tired and unmotivated and plain homesick even though I wanted to be here. I miss the food the most.” Antonio nodded hard. “But sometimes when I’m craving it I’m tired and don’t want to make it, but I know some little spots on the other side of town. You can come with sometime if you want.” </p><p>“Sure,” Antonio said. “Not… you do mean just as friends?” María shook her head and then pinched her nose, staring at the table. </p><p>“Lord have mercy, you Hollywood men think everyone wants you all the time. Now you’ve gone and ruined it.” </p><p>“Sorry, I’m sorry,” Antonio insisted. “I just, I have a girlfriend, and I was worried, since I asked you to get coffee with me on such short notice…” María waved it off.</p><p>“I figured you were just excited to speak with someone from your home country.” </p><p>“Oh, good,” Antonio said. “Anyways, Lovino told me you’re an amazing costume designer.” </p><p>“Yes, well, I’ve been sewing all my life. When I was a child I helped my grandma with the <em> trajes de luces </em>even though I hated when all that hard work got covered in blood and ripped up.” She tapped her spoon on the rim of her cup, glancing out the window. </p><p>“Francis Bonnefoy is my good friend. He’s influential in the costume department, I’m sure you’re aware.” She nodded. “I’m going to ask him to do something, to get you promoted. I know he’ll help you if I ask.” </p><p>“Will he?” María asked, sounding unconvinced. Antonio nodded. “Well, thank you Antonio. I hope you’re right.” Antonio nodded. It felt nice, knowing he could be useful to someone. But it was odd, too, for him to be the one to offer help, to be the person who knew someone that could get her up the ladder. The overall effect was one of accomplishment: he was no longer a dime a dozen newcomer with idle fantasies.</p><p>He was glad to have met María, and when he wasn’t risking his life with Francis and Gilbert he went with her to her favorite restaurants. But even when he felt he should have been utterly fulfilled, he would go home and collapse on his bed and he would be exhausted with missing Lovino. </p><p>For that first month, he had feared Lovino being away would make his feelings fall away and him realize he wasn’t nearly so enamoured as he thought. Instead he was falling in love with even more, even while he was an ocean away. There was no rhyme or reason to it, that he should love him more when Antonio couldn’t even speak to him, but he did. And it only made the ache for him worse.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Chapter 15</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Lovino’s heart was pounding. He could feel it in his throat and hear it in his ears. It drowned out the noise of the wheels dragging along the half-frozen ground, even the distant cracking gunfire from the front. His face was sallow and waxen white like his knuckles as he clutched hard at his gun. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You shell-shocked already?” It was the private from the first ride to the barracks, the more put-together one with a haughty personality that made it impossible for Lovino to like him. “Who wants to bet on the new guy? Five bucks says he pisses himself three seconds in.” Lovino stared at his boots, the muddy vamps, the withering leather. They pinched his feet and blistered his heels. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Félix put a hand on his shoulder and spoke softly to him. “I’m not going to sugarcoat it. It’s horrifying being on the front line, and you might lose control of your bodily functions, which is embarrassing, but it happens more often than not. Stay with me and Abel. He’s a good soldier, and he always keeps an eye out for me and he will for you too.” Lovino nodded. He wasn’t extremely comforted, but neither was he patronized. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was hard to feel anything other than this starved panic, gnawing at his stomach and the walls of his heart. He might die in the next hour, or fifteen minutes, even ten. He tried to imagine what Antonio might say to him if he were sitting where Félix was. Lovino would curl against his side and hide his face in his shoulder as he listened to whatever those words might be because he was scared, dammit, he was so scared. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead all he had was Félix’s hand on his shoulder, but he was grateful for it. And he did trust Abel, who was clever and astute in most every situation. He must be a good soldier. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Lovino lost touch of reality when he hopped off the back of the truck. He had been under the influence of more drugs than he could name and drunk enough to die, but never had he experienced this. He wasn’t there, he was watching himself get off that truck and stand beside Abel like some child beside his mother, too young to know she couldn’t protect him from everything in the world. The private said something mocking to Lovino, but he wasn’t offended because he wasn’t being spoken to; Lovino Vargas was, and he was not him. He didn’t know who he was, or if he even existed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There Lovino went, jostling along with the other soldiers and crawling into position on the dull incline of the trench wall. They pointed their guns at the opposite army, but no one fired yet, waiting on instructions. Lovino didn’t know who was in those trenches. Germans? Italians? Another annexed army? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Félix was close beside him, Abel on his other side. He wished Antonio were next to him, but Antonio was far away in sunny Los Angeles. But he was in Los Angeles too, he was with Antonio. This wasn’t him, here in this trench. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lovino.” Félix’s voice again. “We’re trying to push them away from this area, since we’ve got a fuel depot close by. That means we won’t be fighting in the trenches. It will be up close combat. Don’t use your bayonet, they get stuck and it’s hard to get them out. They’ll shell us, but keep going, and don’t close your eyes. Remember to stay with us. We’ll cover you.” Lovino nodded, the ringing in his ears building. “Take a deep breath.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lovino tried, but it did nothing. He tried again, and again, but still he couldn’t breathe right. Every one he took was too shallow. Félix kept his hand on his shoulder, and when he let go and stood up, Lovino stood up too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Félix was right. They did shell. The ground exploded beside too close, and he screamed even though nothing but dirt had hit him. Abel yelled something over his shoulder and gestured to a little foxhole up ahead. He raised his gun and shot twice, but Lovino didn’t know what at. He didn’t know what was happening. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At one point, he saw a Wehrmacht soldier bobbing along the edge of the German trench, his gun pointed towards Lovino. Lovino panicked and fired his gun just as the head vanished behind the wall of the trench. It went off in his hands and forced his shoulder back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lovino had no idea how long the fight went on. There was no time, no day or night, nothing but waves of adrenaline that lapsed into stronger ones, breaking over his body and fizzling out in a cold tingle in his fingertips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When it was over, finally over, Lovino collapsed to his knees on the ruined earth. He was numb. He was shaking. Félix collapsed beside him, panting. He said something, but Lovino couldn’t understand it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t gain proper control of his conscience until after dinner that evening, sitting on his stiff bed. He kicked off his boots and assessed the damage they had done. His heels were blistered, the skin white and peeled open. They stung at just the open air. Lovino limped outside and poured some water from his canteen on them, which made them burn even more. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He bandaged them back inside and tried to write Antonio, but ended up tapping his pencil on his chin and staring at the wall. He wanted to say so much, more than he could translate out of his horrified, tangled thoughts. The only thing he could get out with any coherency was </span>
  <em>
    <span>I miss you</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and that didn’t quite warrant a whole letter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frustrated, he gave up with the letter and went to find Abel and asked where he might get his hands on some boots. He may as well get one successful thing done today. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No one’s selling boots right now. They’re hard to get your hands on, especially in the winter. You’ll break them in eventually,” Abel said, returning to the newspaper he was holding. Lovino frowned, digging his cold hands in his pockets. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There has to be someone. I won’t be able to walk if these are all I have, at least tell me where I can ask around.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Firstly, I know there aren’t any around or I would have gotten my hands on them. Secondly, you can’t go making deals with people over stolen stuff without me or you could jeopardize our entire operation.” Lovino huffed. “Hey.” Lovino was cowed by the stiffness of his voice. “This isn’t Sunset Boulevard. This is a battlefield. You get what you get, so break in your boots and don’t complain to me, I don’t want to hear it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lovino turned away from him and went back to his barracks, where a majority of the men had started a passionate argument about how to get into the higher-ups’ brothel. Lovino sat on the edge of his bed and frowned at the stiff leather, muddy from the changing weather. He fished under his bed for a rag, wishing he had some oil. He didn’t want to waste his drinking water, so he spit on the cloth, disgusted that he was scrubbing his boots with his own saliva. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It took a good deal of effort to get the dried mud off with spit and he pushed so hard it hurt his dulled nails. There was still dirt underneath them. He hated the dry film of sweat and dust on his skin. The feeling reminded him of the dusty orchard trails under the hot sun. Feliciano would have gotten horrible sunburn if he wasn’t made to stay inside. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of the thirteen children, he was by far the most coddled, which was by no means very much. Still, even their tiny cousin Lorenzo had more freedom to disaster on himself. Everyone worried over him in their distant way, fearing he was fragile or sickly. Lovino didn’t understand it; Feliciano seemed the same as the rest of them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had asked his older cousins about it, but they didn’t tell him anything. Neither did his aunt. He didn’t remember the exact explanation Romulus had given him, but it was something vague about how their mother had been sick when she gave birth to him. He was well aware of his mother’s illness—it had killed her—but he didn’t know why that should affect Feliciano’s health. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t until he was twenty that he learned the source of that sickness was a bad infection caused by her botched attempt to miscarry. Lovino supposed knowing that should have made him furious, especially for his brother, but instead he felt sorry for her. There were already far too many children in that house. His aunt had seven, and she was always exhausted and teary-eyed. Lovino used to sit in her lap to try to make her feel better, but all it did was make her more anxious when she saw how thin he was. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had been thin. And always hungry. But he was too scared to sneak oranges and be punished, unless it was for Feliciano. He was too young to understand why he couldn’t have the fruit, and he cried when he was hungry. No one ever held him, either, except for Romulus, but he was always away in various towns and cities looking for a job. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It hurt Lovino’s heart even now to imagine Feliciano pulling at his aunt’s skirt, asking her to lift him up, and her shaking her head while she rubbed her temples, ordering him to leave her be. Lovino would walk over and pick him up, then carry him outside to the long grass behind the house where he would sit and draw in the dirt with sticks. Feliciano started coming to him when he was hungry, because he knew Lovino would sneak him an orange. Lovino made sure to keep an eye out while he ate it, gnawing a few twigs to try and alleviate his own hunger, though Feliciano always shared a few slices. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he finished the orange, Lovino had to make sure there was no juice on his face so they wouldn’t be caught. Then he let Feliciano hop on his back and they walked through the narrow trails between the rows of sad little trees, talking about what they would do when Romulus got back. He always brought money for the family and a bit of food, as well as something for Feliciano and Lovino. On his last trip to Palermo he had gotten Feliciano a little stuffed turtle that Feliciano had to this day. The last time Lovino had visited, it was sitting in his sock drawer in their New York apartment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Feliciano had never gone anywhere without that turtle, so Lovino did all he could to keep it clean. He even learned how to sew so he could save the tail from falling off, knowing his aunts would never waste their time on it. There were beans in its legs and Feliciano loved the sound of them rustling against one another. He used to make Lovino listen to it as they tried to fall asleep until he bored of it and got sleepy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Romulus would bring Lovino books about Ancient Rome, though Lovino couldn’t read very well and learned most from the pictures. He used to tell Feliciano those stories when it was too hot to sleep, tucked away in a corner of the room they shared with their cousins. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The last gift Romulus had given Lovino was at the premiere of his first film: a watch. Lovino stopped scrubbing the boots and set them down on the floorboards with the dirty cloth, touching its face. It ticked away on Los Angeles time. What time was it in New York? He had forgotten the difference. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey!” Someone snapped in Lovino’s face. “Movie star! You’re an actor. You think you could impersonate a lieutenant or something and get us in there?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Give it a rest with the brothel. Go jerk yourself off and quit bothering me,” he said, picking up his other boot to get to work on it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bet you’d like to be there for that, fucking faggot.” Lovino didn’t respond. His heart pinched and he swallowed hard, hands shaking as he scrubbed harder at his boots. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The conversation turned away from prostitutes and himself, but he was still anxious, so he went outside to finish with his boots. It was snowing. He held out a hand and caught a large flake in his chapped hand. It was freezing, but he had had to deal with butchering heat before and knew that surviving harsh temperatures was more about the mind than his body. If he could ignore it well enough, he would be fine. Though in this case he would have to be careful so he wouldn’t get frostbite. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lovino lurked out in the dark until he assumed everyone else had gone to sleep. He was so cold he could hardly move his fingers when he crawled into his bed. He shoved them down his pants and pinched them between his thighs, relieved when the feeling went back into them. He sighed and closed his eyes, trying to fall asleep. He glanced at his watch one more time before he did. It was five in the evening in Los Angeles. Again he wondered if Antonio was thinking about him. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Chapter 16</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“What’s wrong, Tony?” Gilbert asked, setting down an espresso in front of him. Antonio shrugged and took a sip of the coffee. Gilbert continued to scrutinize him as he sat down beside a languishing, hungover Francis and nibbled a biscotti. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on Tony, what’s wrong?” he asked again, nudging his arm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve been listening to the radio broadcasts about the war,” he started. “It makes me feel so selfish, that I’m here living large while people are dying out on a warfront.” He leaned on the table and sighed, staring at the surface of his coffee. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re doing plenty,” Francis croaked. “We’re creating art for the masses to take their mind off the world for a while. We’re giving them something to smile about when they don’t have anything else. Don’t belittle our work, especially your own. But I thought you were going home to help with the war effort.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am,” Antonio said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mexico had declared itself an Allied belligerent a few months ago and was allowing the United States to draft Mexicans living in the country, something that terrified Antonio. Intent on avoiding the American draft, he had gotten tickets for a flight back to Mexico to serve his military service, as he wouldn’t be sent overseas. He would be working in a factory, helping build war machines. It would be a dreary year, working in a factory, but at least he would be home and safe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And unlike Lovino, he missed home, and held no resentment to returning. He would see his family and friends again and visit all the places he had missed. More importantly, adjusting to being home would keep his mind off Lovino, something he dedicated himself to perfecting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But I’m just building things, not fighting. You’re right, though,” Antonio said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There are some surprising gems emerging now that everyone else is off at war. Such a shame all these amazingly talented kids have been right under our noses. This one girl starred in some philosophical short and she nearly moved me to tears. Everyone is losing their mind over her,” Gilbert said. Antonio smiled and nodded, hating that he got a burn of jealousy in his stomach for someone he didn’t even know and was probably a very pleasant person. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just last week a review of his film had come out, singing his praises. But beneath it was another, this one talking up a young actor like those Gilbert was talking about. He had compared those two reviews for hours, trying to decode from two different writers whether he or this sixteen-year-old was the better performer. The whole time he reminded himself that he was being obsessive and this wouldn’t help anything, would only make the hot, swelling desire in his chest for success and significance get worse. Yet he kept reading them, kept picking apart the words until they had no meaning left anymore. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shouldn’t be surprised. Los Angeles was sure to attract talented people with that stars-in-their-eyes smile he had, ready to spin into the spotlight. It made him think of what Francis had said on New Year’s Eve, about living life with boisterous indifference until the youth drained out of him. Antonio felt he understood it now; countless nights running around the city he had been tugged at by the feeling the city was his and only his, and it had given him a sense of immortality, being young and beautiful in Hollywood. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But someday he would no longer be either of those things. He supposed that was the natural order, stars burning out. It was no different here, in the City of Stars. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you alright, Tony?” Gilbert asked. Antonio nodded and returned his attention to their idle chatter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he got home he checked his mailbox, hoping for a letter from Lovino, but there was only a bank statement. His eyes got wide when he looked it over. He hadn’t been paying all that much attention to his money, as usual, and was shocked to see how much was in his account. Enough for a few cars and probably a house, too.  But the moment he started fantasizing about what this money could buy, he thought of when he had started living alone in Mexico. He had been terrible with his finances to the point he had to get his older brother to fly out to rescue him; he had been too embarrassed to call his parents. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was tempted to call his brother right now and beg him for help about what to do with his money, but he talked himself down. He was too old to be needing someone to tell him how to be smart with money. Common sense told him to save most of it and keep a little for himself, maybe invest in more stocks or bonds. But that wasn’t terribly exciting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Antonio drummed his fingers on the table, glancing around his little apartment. He had always lived in a house in Mexico, and he missed the privacy of it. He thought of the mansions in the Hills. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do not buy a house, you’ve got a perfectly good apartment,” he instructed himself, tucking the statement back in its envelope. “You do not need a big house. You live alone, what would you do with all that space?” Besides, Lovino likely had ten times what he did and was content with his apartment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then again, Lovino converted most of his money into </span>
  <em>
    <span>liras</span>
  </em>
  <span> and sent it back home to Italy, to the family he never wanted to see again. Antonio didn’t understand his adamance about refusing to visit. Even when Antonio had suggested they go to Milan he had shut the idea down. He wanted the greatest possible disconnect he could get between himself and Italy. He wouldn’t even import oil or wine from the country. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he had never given up the language; he was always reading books in Italian, sometimes aloud, and there were all those paintings of Sicilian countryside on his walls. Antonio didn’t understand it. And he brought up his decision to revoke his citizenship often, as if he worried over it often and was unsure he had made the right choice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He supposed it had something to do with his desperation to be distinctly American, which Antonio found a bit ridiculous, but he would never say that when it mattered so much to Lovino. And it was that same inflamed pride for America that had driven him to join the war, which only made Antonio become more disdainful towards it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>_____________</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Félix collapsed on the grass with his arms out, inhaling the spring air. “I forgot how nice grass is,” he murmured. Abel settled down next to Lovino, taking a swig from a palm-sized bottle of gin he had gotten for himself a few weeks back. Lovino was looking out over the expanse of the countryside, the rolling green hills and the small copses of trees. The sight made him itch to jump up and run as fast and far as he could, not to escape the army, just to </span>
  <em>
    <span>run</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He laid back and looked up at the clouds, touched with the sun sinking from its peak in the sky. The air was warm for the first time in months, despite the wind. Lovino ruffled his hair to try and get more of the water out, closing his eyes and turning his face towards the warmth. For once he wasn’t longing for anything or anyone, was simply enjoying the warm sun on his skin and the sweetness of the soft, short grass. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The three of them had subjected themselves to freezing bucket showers in the field behind the barracks, cleaning off months worth of dirt and sweat. it had been the most refreshing shower of his life, despite the fact it was cold and not really a shower and the Army-issued soap smelled of nothing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“To our victory,” Abel said, raising the gin and taking a sip. Félix and Lovino had some too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>shit</span>
  </em>
  <span> that’s good,” Lovino said. “Wish you had more.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We won’t have to be scrambling for drinks anymore,” Félix said. “Now that town’s in Allied hands, they’ll station us there and we can go to a bar again.” He grinned, laying back in the grass. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was right. A few days after claiming the town in Alsace, they were put on patrol there. Lovino was happy to get drunk. He had missed it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A few girls from the village sat with them at their rowdy table, speaking French or clumsy English or saying nothing at all. Félix delighted them with his polished fluency in the language and usually broke away from the group to speak with one of them, earning drunken applause from some of the men at the table. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lovino ignored them for the most part as much as he ignored most everyone in his squadron, but it made him anxious how people teased him about it and kept a close eye on his interactions with them. Perhaps that was why he did what he did when a woman settled beside him, her knee touching his. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Veux-tu plus de vin</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” she asked, pointing to his empty glass and miming filling it up. Lovino glanced at one of the corporals sitting across from him, casually sipping a beer. Lovino leaned closer to her. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Oui s’il te plaît, merci</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he said. She smiled at him. He smiled back. She put a hand on his arm. Lovino put his hand over hers and kissed her right there in the crowded bar, getting a harsh slap on the back from the man beside them. Lovino wanted to open his eyes, to make sure the corporal was watching, that </span>
  <em>
    <span>everyone</span>
  </em>
  <span> was watching him kiss her. He prayed it would be enough to assuage their suspicions. But he knew a kiss wouldn’t, so he stood up and took her hand, leading her out of the bar with him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When they were safely outside the bar, Lovino offered her a cigarette. She grinned and took it. He lit it for her. He doubted they had had cigarettes here in a long while. They smoked in silence, and all the while Lovino was panicking about what to do. He didn’t even want to kiss her again, let alone have sex with her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He went with her to a little pond a ways from the bar, figuring if he was gone long enough the other men would assume he had slept with her. He watched the ducks for a while, and then she put a hand on his cheek and kissed him. He kissed her back because he felt guilty resisting; he was the one who had instigated. He stopped her every time her hands went any lower than his chest, the whole time thinking about Antonio. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Antonio was the one he wanted to kiss here, up against a willow tree in the Alsacian countryside on the first warm day in spring, when the leaves were still soft to the touch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Was this the type of person he was? What would Antonio think knowing he was here, kissing someone whose name he didn’t even know, letting her touch him? He was scared of those men in his barracks, what they would do to him. He was doing this because he was scared. He was weak, weak as a soldier and a man too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She took his face in her hands and made him look up at her. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Ça va?” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Lovino stared at her for a second longer, and then he pressed his face to her chest, trying not to cry. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Pauvre garçon</span>
  </em>
  <span>, </span>
  <em>
    <span>tout va bien</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” she murmured, stroking his hair. Lovino felt pathetic, and weak, and guilty, and so embarrassed. He apologized over and over, despite her assuring him not to worry. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They sat together a while, and when it began to get dark he walked her home, feeling unclean all over again. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’m sorry, Antonio. </span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Chapter 17</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Where were you last night?” Abel asked dryly when Félix sat down beside him. He was in the midst of laying out a collection of items he had gotten from an orderly the night before. The valuable things had come from a British lieutenant who had died from infection in his amputated leg: some chocolate, four packs of cigarettes, and a bottle of vodka. Lovino had traded his cigarettes for the latter item. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, well,” Félix smoothed his hair. “Camille was a lovely woman, I decided to speak with her a bit.” Abel raised his eyebrows. “Yes, just speak to her. I’m so sick of soldiers, I needed to talk to someone normal for once.” He frowned at what Abel was doing, reaching forward to pick up a wedding ring from the grass. “You won’t sell this, Abel? Tell me your won’t.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If someone’s buying, I’m selling. But I doubt anyone would want a wedding ring.” Félix held it in his palm and curled his fingers around it, as if it were the sacrament to his own marriage. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m buying,” Félix said. Abel looked up. “Whatever you want. I want the ring. I’m going to find out who it belongs to and send it home to his family.” Abel shook his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can have it,” Abel said. He set to laying out some photos, setting them down and scrutinizing them as if they were Tarot cards. He picked up the first photo, one of the deceased lieutenant with his arm around a woman who had a little girl holding onto her skirt, beaming at the camera. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Send this, too.” He handed Abel the photo and returned to the pictures. “No one wants photos. I only get them because the orderlies know I have to give them cigarettes if they bring me something. I should have been more specific. Need to track down a lawyer,” he mused. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lovino rested his arms on his knees and studied the pictures. It felt wrong to look at them, an intrusion on a stranger’s life. There were two boys who looked like brothers sitting on a low sea wall, one of them smiling and the other clearly upset with having to sit still. The one beside it featured a girl who couldn’t be older than nineteen, laying beside a pool in her bathing suit. She was in the middle of laughing, holding a cigarette in her outstretched hand, the other behind her head to keep her hat in place. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something about how candid that photo was struck him. She seemed so happy. Was she still now? Was she waiting for whoever this had been taken from the way Antonio was waiting for him? He wished he knew her name, he wished he could tell her he was sorry. For what, he didn’t know, or even why. Maybe because she reminded him of Antonio, and he wanted to apologize to him for kissing a stranger and leaving him alone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Abel glanced at him. “I hope you’re not going to smuggle that away for immoral reasons.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no,” Lovino promised, setting it down hastily.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His life had been drastically improved because of the orderlies’ theft. He had gotten cigarettes when the army ran out, wine, a better coat, even a truffle sausage. Therefore he was in no position to degrade their stealing, but taking these pictures felt like too much. No one wanted a photo of someone’s little sons in front of the ocean. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you going to do with them?” Lovino asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Find out who they belong to,” Abel said, turning them to their little cloth bag. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Félix stood up. “It’s about dinner time,” he noted. Abel nodded, leaving Lovino and Félix to head for the canteen while he put the photos beneath his mattress along with the other stolen goods. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you have a girlfriend back in Luxembourg?” Lovino asked. Félix nodded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She used to write me every month when we were in Belgium, but I haven’t gotten one since we came to France. She’s probably off fighting in the resistance. She said she was going to when I offered to take her out of the country.” He looked over at Lovino. “And you? You really don’t have a girlfriend?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lovino shook his head. Then he was thinking about Antonio and got that hollow feeling he couldn’t let go of. He wanted the peace to think about him, and the noise of everyone talking in the canteen annoyed him. He ate fast and then went outside, sitting in a copse of tree a ways from the narrow wooden buildings. He settled against the uncomfortable trunks and took a deep breath, inhaling the springtime and flowers and heat. He put his hands to the earth, ran his fingers through the soft grass. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He closed his eyes and pictured Antonio’s face, frustrated that the details didn’t seem quite right. He couldn’t place his different expressions, or exactly how his voice sounded. He hadn’t paid close enough attention when he had been with him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lovino curled his arms over his stomach. It hurt, but not with nausea or hunger, but with that pang for Antonio. What he wouldn’t give to be able to curl up against him now, to feel his arms around him. To see him try to speak when he was laughing too hard and all he could do was wave his arm around while he tried to catch his breath. To hear his voice just one more time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The thought of Antonio’s laughing made him smile. As with his face, he couldn’t quite remember it, like some song he had heard a long time ago and wanted to listen to and fall in love with all over again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sighed and turned his head, the harsh bark scraping his cheek. All the running had made his legs sore and the soles of his feet throb dully. He was dirty again and there was dried sweat sunk into his skin. He wanted to shower more than he wanted something to eat other than beans. When it came down to it, beans weren’t all that bad. Not being able to shower was horrific. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wanted the chance to use his expansive bathtub. He hadn’t used it enough, only after particularly stressful days when he opened a bottle of white and drank it with the preserved pears he used to buy at the farmer’s market. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He really had been spoiled. And he thought he didn’t take things for granted, but he had. Good wine and hot water and fruit and most of all Antonio. Living in Los Angeles had made him too used to affection and attention, so he had never appreciated Antonio’s enough. He decided then that if he ever got back to Los Angeles, he would take Antonio to the market to get a pound of fresh fruit, and then they would go back to his apartment and make proper use of his bathtub. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They never had, though there had been a day in late August they had meant to. Then Gilbert invited him up to Anneliese’s beach house, saying he could bring Lovino along if he wanted, so they had gone to the Pacific instead. They had been outside in the heat all day, in and out of the ocean, so by the time they left in the late evening they were both exhausted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lovino drove them back to his apartment with the top down. Antonio raised his face to the warm wind, watching the neon signs and the palm trees pass them. The evening had been hot and humid and everywhere it smelled like the ocean and that sage on top of the Santa Monica mountains. It wasn’t yet dark, and the spotty clouds were pink and gold with grey at their edges, hanging low in the muted cornflower blue sky. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Antonio had been laughing almost the whole drive. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“What’s so funny?” he asked. Antonio leaned on his arm and grinned at him. His hair was half-dry, whipping around his face in the warm wind. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I have no idea!” he said, and went on laughing. Lovino shook his head, but Antonio could have kept laughing the whole car ride and he wouldn’t have tired of it. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Lovino showered when they got back to his apartment. While he was drying his hair off he heard a good deal of rummaging in the kitchen and feared Antonio was trying to cook something, so he wrapped a towel around his waist and hurried to see what he was doing. He was relieved to find Antonio was not using the stove, instead standing by the sink stirring a pitcher intensely with a dish towel over his shoulder, a sunstain on his back from the window over the sink. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Lovino came up behind him and snuck his arms around Antonio’s waist, standing up on his tiptoes and looking over his shoulder. “What are you up to?” he asked, pressing his chest against Antonio’s back. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Jesus, you’re so wet!” Antonio yelped. Lovino rubbed his soaked hair on Antonio’s neck, making him yelp and skitter away, clutching the pitcher hard. Lovino laughed and didn’t let go.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’m making horchata </span>
  </em>
  <span>agua fresca</span>
  <em>
    <span>. We used to make it all the time in July. I had to improvise a bit because you don’t have evaporated milk or any cinnamon sticks.” Lovino groaned. “Don’t worry, I only mean I used ground cinnamon. I didn’t attempt to replace the evaporated milk, so we’ll see how it tastes. No promises.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Don’t worry, my expectations are nonexistent,” Lovino assured him. Antonio frowned and poured a bit into two glasses, offering the less full to Lovino, who removed one arm from his waist to take it. He took a sip and was pleasantly surprised at the flavor, like rice pudding with an aromatic bit of vanilla and cinnamon. “This is quite good,” he said. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Eh, it’s not as good as I usually make it,” Antonio said, trying a bit. “But I’m glad you like it.” He pressed his face to Lovino’s cheek and kissed him. Lovino closed his eyes and smiled. When he leaned away Lovino rested his chin on Antonio’s collarbone, silently asking for another kiss. Antonio smiled and pecked him on the temple, refilling his glass. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Lovino pressed his threaded fingers to his chin, trying to remember the feeling of Antonio’s lips against his skin. He touched his mouth to his wrist, but he knew it felt different when it was Antonio’s. He rubbed the heels of his hands against his eyes, then sniffed and looked up at the sky. He would have that again, he would. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I miss you,” he whispered, hoping by some miracle of the universe Antonio would hear him.  </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Chapter 18</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>For most of his childhood, Antonio’s parents always talked of moving back to Spain. His mother missed the sea, she missed the whole country, and his father did too. But they had never moved, even now that Antonio and João had moved out and lived on their own. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When his cab stopped outside his house, he expected to feel a wave of nostalgia, or a disconnect, some swollen pain over the passing of time. Maybe an amplification of what he had felt finally getting back into Mexico. But after nineteen years in the place with it being a permanent fixture, it was too familiar to feel like coming home. He may as well have just walked home from school.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Antonio paid the driver and stood on a sidewalk for a moment, glancing up and down the street at the houses before finally walking up to the door. It was locked, so he fished his key from his pocket the way he had after school because his father was at work and his mother was at the library. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Inside was cool and quiet, exactly the way Antonio liked it when he got home and had the house to himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even his room stirred little in him, as he knew it too well and had spent so many hours here to feel much distance for it. His mother must have cleaned it before he’d arrived, because the window was open and the bed was newly made, the pillowcases and sheets smelling of fresh laundry. He made a mental note to thank her and set his luggage down, heading to the kitchen to get himself some water from the fridge. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The thing was that a pastel orange color that would have been offensive in almost any other kitchen. Antonio was very opposed to colored fridges, especially after seeing them in horrific display in mismatched kitchens in California, but this one was acceptable. It complimented the sunny yellow tiles around the stove, the ones painted by his grandfather that had originally been in his father’s home in Valencia. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He poured himself some water from the hinged bottle and snapped it shut. He popped it open once and then closed it, tucking it back into the fridge and pushing open the screen door to go out into the garden. That was what he missed most about Mexico, all his mother’s roses. He loved the place most in August, when the ground was hot and everything was scented with dust and aged rose petals. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Antonio leaned against the stucco wall of the garden, saddened by its dormancy. Most of the bushes were covered, and the grass was short and scrubby; he liked the crunch of it under his shoes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lovino would love it. Antonio would show him when he came back from the war, would bring him here to see the Agustine roses and lay in the sun. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Antonio leaned back against the wall. He listened to his neighbors arguing and studied the late afternoon clouds warm with gold. He was glad to be away from Los Angeles, where Lovino’s absence was impossible to ignore, where Antonio was always looking over his shoulder expecting Lovino to be there. He never was. Lovino was not ingrained in Mexico. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he was in Antonio. There was no pushing him out of his head, because he was more integral than a thought. He had made himself at home in the atriums of Antonio’s heart, so he got into his lungs and became part of every breath he took. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was why he came to even enjoy his work at the factory. The job was mindless, kept his body in time to a rhythm that allowed him to cut contact with himself. The days moved like music, each one ending on a subtle deceptive cadence, offering the illusion of satisfaction. So much aggressive consistency skewed </span>
</p><p>
  <span>his perception of time, made the days move too fast. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was hard to adjust to living with his parents after so many months away. He was sapped of the sense of freedom Los Angeles gave him, a feeling that got worse and more strained with each day that passed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually he came to crave change like nothing else, but saw no out for it. His term of duty required him to stay another eight months. Staring at his calendar, Antonio started to feel pinned underneath someone’s hand. He needed to get out of his house, to </span>
  <em>
    <span>do </span>
  </em>
  <span>something. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So that evening he got in his father’s car and drove to visit his friend in the country. He always went over for the weekends when he was younger, sleeping beside him in the tiny attic room that looked down on the west pasture. They woke before the sun came up to go feed and water the horses, when the desert air was cold and heavy as water. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The doors of the barn were open, letting in the evening sun and the faroff wind. Antonio glanced up at the hayloft. He had always wanted to sleep up there when he was younger, which he did not understand at all; it was incredibly dirty and lush with spiders. But he could see the stars from up there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The tack room smelled of old leather and dust, and it was the first truly comforting thing he had experienced in a long time. His friend’s wife was there, trying to lure out a barn cat from beneath the saddle racks. She gave Antonio a hug and caught him up with what they had been up to while half-focused on the cat, who eventually wriggled out from under the rack and dashed out the cracked door. She sighed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you going to jump?” Antonio considered, then nodded. “I’ll put up some cross rails for you, unless you want to jump higher.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, thank you. Speaking of, do you still have Acorde?” he asked. She nodded. “Oh, good. And, if it’s not too much trouble, can you put a few cavalettis up for me?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course,” she said. Antonio went over the saddles and hunted for his old one, checking underneath the flap for the Stöger Leder insignia. The leather was stiff and creaked when he picked it up. He sat on the back porch with the saddle over his knee to clean it, listening to the music draining from the radio beside the kitchen window.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was always Brazilian jazz playing at his house. The music practically poured nostalgia over slow summer nights out by the desert, and Antonio loved it. Lovino did too. Whenever Antonio would put the records on he would close his eyes and listen, sometimes trying to sing along with the Portuguese despite not knowing a word. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“You’re so cute, Lovi.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Antonio had said, watching him stretched out on the couch, his hands hanging over the arm, flicking in time to the music. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I am a sex symbol, Antonio, I am not ‘cute,’ and you will not address me as such.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Antonio set the saddle down in one of the grooming stalls. His chest hollowed out and for several seconds he stood there, not moving, just staring at the dusty concrete floor and aching for Lovino. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Acorde’s stall was in the back stable. He had the roundest ears of any horse Antonio had ever seen, and he smiled when he pushed the door open. He put his arms around Acorde’s neck and hugged him, hiding his face and the slope at his shoulder. The horse craned his neck around and nipped Antonio in the ribs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Would you let me hug you? I’m sad,” Antonio muttered. Acorde bit him again, so Antonio let go and patted him on the neck instead. He had been riding Acorde since he was young, when he had been brought over from Kentucky where he had been a racehorse. Now he was twenty-three. A nice old, dependable gelding was what Antonio wanted after so many months out of the saddle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he had gotten spookier in his old age, shying away from almost anything. Antonio was glad for it, because he was forced to focus on circles and serpentines so Acorde would listen to him. His legs were sore before he even attempted to canter, but he wanted to be sore, to have some other physical pain that could take away the mental. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Acorde was a thoroughbred so his canter was long and felt too fast at Antonio, who kept pulling on the reins trying to get him to shorten his stride. He brought him in more circles, attempting to regain his sense of control, though these were more clumsy because his legs were tired. Eventually he gave up. He was trying to have fun, after all, so he let Acorde canter around the rail on a loose rein. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he brought Acorde back down the walk he freed himself from the stirrups and leaned back in the saddle, staring at the endless-seeming sky above him, fascinated with the lovely blend of evening colors and their vividity. He let Acorde puff for a while as he studied the sky. Lovino was somewhere under that same sky, a thought that provided some abstract comfort. It was early morning for him. Antonio hoped he was getting some sleep, and not too hungry, or too lonely. Antonio sat up and dropped his reins to hang his arms around Acorde’s neck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I miss him so much,” Antonio muttered into his scrubby mane. He shut his eyes tight as he could until his cheeks were sore. Then he recollected himself, shortening the reins and tapping Acorde’s sides with his heels. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He trotted the cavaletti jumps set up along the fence, an endeavor that went quite badly. Acorde didn’t like to pick up his feet and tripped over the poles, making Antonio catch himself on the pommel of the saddle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on, pick up your feet, buddy. I’m going to suffer serious testicular damage if I hit myself again,” Antonio muttered, clicking at him. Acorde swiveled an ear and knocked the cavaletti. “Okay, you don’t like these very much.” Antonio patted his withers and then took him back and forth over the cross rails at the end of the arena for a while. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he eventually dismounted the rose-hued air had gone pale mauve, and everything had a greyish edge to it. The only spot of warm color was behind the distant mountains to the west. He winced as he landed. The inside of his knees hurt and his thighs were sore from the stiff leather. Acorde tried to itch his sweaty face on Antonio’s back, nearly knocking him over. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After he took care of Acorde he went inside to have a late dinner, finally driving home in the dark. He was glad for the excursion and its effect on his feelings of lost opportunity. But the aftermath faded quickly, leaving him homesick for Los Angeles. He began counting down the days until his return train to California. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gilbert was the one to pick him up from the station when he got back in early May, just as they days were getting longer and the sun warmer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He brought Antonio to the diner near the studio for a welcome-home lunch with Francis. Antonio wolfed down his food in mere minutes, starving after his travels. The sandwich was good, but also quite disappointing after having his mother cooking for him for so many months. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Antonio glanced over his shoulder to assure Gilbert was still in the bathroom, then leaned over and swiped a few of his fries. He reached for a few more and was interrupted by Gilbert planting himself back in the booth and yanking them out of reach. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Buy your own.” Antonio shrugged, munching away at them happily. Gilbert shook his head and sighed. “We’ve made you too entitled. I’ll arrange for Francis to sabotage your career by ruining your costume somehow. Make your trousers fall off halfway through a scene or something.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I could do that,” Francis said thoughtfully, turning the page in the magazine he was pouring over. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That wouldn’t embarrass me even a little,” Antonio said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Naughty boy,” Francis said. Gilbert made a disgusted face at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Never say that again, Francis. And Antonio, don’t get cocky,” he warned, brandishing his straw. “It’s that new role they want you in, isn’t it? If you keep playing the dashing romantic hero you’re going to start getting the wrong idea about who you are, which is a </span>
  <em>
    <span>thief</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Before Antonio could retaliate, Amelia appeared seemingly out of thin air and threw herself into the seat beside him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Tony!” she said, hanging her arm around his neck. “Welcome back! How was Mexico?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Great</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Will you buy me a beer?” she asked. Antonio shook his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re seventeen, you shouldn’t have alcohol.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I shouldn’t be sitting around with a bunch of old men either, but here we are,” Amelia said. “Besides, all the boys my age are going off to war and messing around with guns, I think I can handle a beer. Come on, it’s celebratory! I got a job! And not one working for old-ass Arthur. This is big news, okay? You’re not aware because you’ve been AWOL but I’ve been trying to get a </span>
  <em>
    <span>real </span>
  </em>
  <span>job forever, since all my girlfriends are working in the factory but factory jobs, gross, you know.” Antonio shrugged. He hadn’t minded them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That warrants one drink,” Francis decided. Amelia let go of Antonio grinned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is contributing to underage drinking. We’re breaking the law,” Antonio said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tony, darling, I’ve watched you do at least three types of illegal drugs on numerous occasions, so let’s not worry too much about what’s legal and what isn’t,” Francis said, patting him on the cheek. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine, just get her some water, too,” he muttered. He consoled himself by stealing a few more fries from Gilbert, who slapped his hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Francis returned with a Ballantine and slid it across the table to Amelia with a glass of water. Amelia cracked it open and rolled her eyes at Antonio disapproving muttering. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, what’s this job?” Francis asked.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Amelia grinned and set the can down hard on the table. “I was at that coffee shop on the Boulevard today, waiting in line, and some dude cut in front of me. I was pissed ‘cause you damn well know I wanted my coffee, so I started giving him a piece of my mind. That was when this other dude came up to me and said </span>
  <em>
    <span>woah! You have the perfect voice for a radio announcer! </span>
  </em>
  <span>and he handed me his card and said he worked at the station downtown and needed someone to do transitions or whatever. I told him I was all in and I’m going down there tomorrow for him to show me the ropes.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gilbert blinked. “You got a job like </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span>? You’ve got to teach me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can’t teach talent,” she said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m capable of learning anything,” he shot back. Amelia rolled her eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not to be controversial, but as bad as the war is, I certainly don’t mind having all the men shipped out. We can finally </span>
  <em>
    <span>work</span>
  </em>
  <span>—don’t say anything against that or I’ll shove a fork up your nose—and…” she slammed a leg up on the table. “Pants! I feel like I’ve got the whole of the West Coast in my pocket in these.” She took another swig of beer and Antonio pushed the water glass closer to her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Congratulations, Amélie,” Francis said. She beamed and swung her leg back off the table. “But I’m coming with you. Arthur would crucify me if I let you go wandering to some seedy radio station by your lonesome.” Amelia heaved a difficult sigh but agreed. Antonio edged her water a little closer.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You should have water when you drink,” he said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pfft, you’re not my dad,” Amelia shot back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Neither is Francis, but you listen to him,” Antonio said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s because Francis is like my really homosexual uncle,” Amelia said. Gilbert glanced nervously at Antonio, then back at Francis, then once at Amelia. She blushed and coughed. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Ack</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I…  Fine, I’ll have one sip. Now the nasty alcohol won’t get to me.” She patted Antonio on the shoulder, downing the rest of her beer. “I’ve got to run to the post office. Later,” she said with a wave, disappearing into the crowded street. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t worry, Gilbert. He knows,” Francis muttered at his worried stare, patting him on the arm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Know about what?” Antonio asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Francis and…” Gilbert cleared his throat loudly before saying in a hissing whisper: “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Arthur</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>No</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Antonio said. Gilbert grinned and nodded, but Francis kicked him in the ankle and he went quiet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not what I meant,” he muttered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We won’t talk about this here,” Antonio whispered, “but we are going to have that conversation.” Francis grimaced. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anyways,” Gilbert said loudly, “that was hilarious watching you trying to get Amelia to listen.” Antonio rustled, taking out his irritation on Gilbert’s fries. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. Chapter 19</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Lovino had always hated hide-and-seek when he was younger. The high meadowgrass behind the house became his go-to spot, somewhere obvious his little cousins didn’t think to look. Bugs rasped as he lay there, his heart beating in his ears and his cheeks as he dreaded being discovered. The same anxious anticipation soaked him now like the cold drizzle pulling the landscape out of focus. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tried to quiet his breathing, but that only made his need for oxygen stronger and his panting louder. He waited. And listened. The faint voices were gone, and he no longer heard scuffling in the grass, so he eased himself up onto all fours. He didn’t want to move, but his orders had been to keep an eye on the enemy line and he couldn’t see anything over the swell of the hill. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bracing himself, Lovino drew a deep breath and cocked his gun. He stayed in a low squat as he went up the slope, but his legs started to burn and he dropped down to crawl on his chest. For the last twelve hours he had been on his feet, leaving him sore and tired, not to mention starving to the point hot beans and stale bread sounded like fine cuisine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lovino reached the peak of the hill and situated himself so he could see the Italian trench, opposite the muddy swathe that was no-man’s-land. He drank some water and checked his arm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A few weeks prior he had gotten in the way of a shell blast and spent the night in a field hospital getting the shrapnel picked out. He had panicked when he woke up without his watch, but later found Abel had taken it so there was no chance of it being stolen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a forming bloodstain on the bandage. He had been warned that he would bleed if he moved too much and ruptured the clots, but sitting still wasn’t acceptable in a majority of situations on the front. He made sure he was well and truly alone, then got a roll of bandages from his pack. There weren’t many left, so he opted to put more over the wound than redress it completely. When they got back to their base he could clean it with some of his precious alcohol supply and use the fresh bandages they would be supplied.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Army had gotten a recent influx in supplies after more factory jobs were filled. Lovino wondered if Emma was working at one, or if she was still acting. Knowing her, she would try to do both; work early in the morning with her hair tied up in a bandana like Rosie the Riveter, then go film in the afternoon. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After he had fixed his arm, he rolled onto his stomach to watch the trench. There was nothing much to see. He sighed and leaned on his hands, staying like that for some time and blinking the rain from his eyes. Opposite him the trees’ wet leaves brushed against one another and he heard a soft muddle of voices. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There were two figures between the trunks. Lovino blinked through the haze of rain. They were both Italian soldiers, just barely in their twenties, joking with each other while they surveyed the landscape. Lovino suspected the only reason they hadn’t seen him was the poor visibility caused by the rain and his muddy uniform. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Slowly he crawled backwards down the hill, his heart in his throat. He glanced over his shoulder, looking for a spot to hide, and found an old, collapsing foxhole. Relieved, he slipped over to it, letting the air out of his taught lungs and sinking against the soft mud. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But no sooner had he relaxed then he heard a gun safety clicking. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He swiveled towards the opposite side of the foxhole, finding himself face-to-face with an Italian soldier. His gun was pointed between Lovino’s eyes, and his finger was on the trigger. Lovino gasped and struggled to move back against the wall, but he was already as far back as he could be. There was nowhere to go. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t kill me!” he said. “Please, please don’t kill me.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Coward. Begging for your life. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>But he wasn’t begging for his life. Just like that first day on the front, he was no longer Lovino, no longer able to think or feel or do anything but watch. He stared down on the foxhole, at this man with his legs curled to his chest, a bandaged arm up in front of his face as though it might save him from a bullet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please, please don’t kill me,” he begged. He swallowed and said it again, this time in Italian. “I can’t die. I can’t. Please, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please</span>
  </em>
  <span>…” Lovino’s eyes stung. He was too scared to wipe his tears away, as humiliating as they were as they were; he saw this soldier as some fearful, cornered animal that would lash out if he moved even the slightest bit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The soldier lowered his gun. The adrenaline didn’t go but Lovino’s panic faded some, enough that he could look him over. He was young, he was only a child, and Lovino’s heart ached for him. He had been shot in the thigh and bled all over the muddy ground. It pooled in the dirty water beside him and stained his fingers. Before Lovino had dropped into the hole he had been trying to bandage it with strips of his torn trousers and a few measly bits of gauze in his lap. His helmet was gone, and his hair was full of mud and dried blood. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lovino couldn’t let him die. Not so young, not alone with nobody but an enemy soldier. There was something about this stranger that gave him a rush of paternal feeling. Perhaps it was that he looked so much like Feliciano; the same color hair, even a similar face. More like his aunt, the one with seven children who never smiled. Seven children. The youngest of which would be a little over eighteen now, just old enough to have joined the army. And this boy’s rank was low, only a </span>
  <em>
    <span>sottotenente. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He had to be new. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lovino shook his head. He was drawing lines between dots that weren’t there. But he had to ask. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s your name?” Lovino breathed. He stared at Lovino for several seconds, watching him slowly lower his arm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lorenzo,” he said. Lovino shook his head. No, no, that was a common enough name. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And the last?” he whispered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Vargas.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lovino shook his head again. He was thinking about hide-and-seek again, laying on his stomach in the grass, watching little Lorenzo rooting around for sticks. Like Feliciano, he wasn’t allowed to play with the others, so they put him to work instead. Lovino couldn’t resist reaching and grabbing his ankle, even though he knew he would get a smack over the head for it. That had been one of the last times he had seen Lorenzo before he moved to America. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why’d you want my name? Lorenzo asked, squinting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It… It’s me, it’s Lovino,” he whispered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know anyone named Lovino,” Lorenzo said. “Is this some kind of American strategy? Are you playing mind games with me?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no,” Lovino promised. “I’m your cousin. We used to live together in Sicily, on the orchard, but I don’t expect you to remember me because you were four or five when I moved to America. But surely you recognize my name? I send you checks every month. Are they getting to the family? Are they helping?” Lorenzo’s hand loosened on the trigger.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re the one sending us the money?” he asked. Lovino nodded. “Hold on there, mister. I’m still not convinced this isn’t some American tactic. This could be espionage or something.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not,” Lovino said. Lorenzo still didn’t lower his gun.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, they helped a lot. We left Sicily and moved to Seborga,” he said slowly. “But if you</span>
  <em>
    <span> are </span>
  </em>
  <span>my cousin, why are you fighting for America? Why didn’t you come home and fight with us?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lovino’s expression hardened. “I won’t fight for fascism.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> fighting for fascism. I’m fighting for my country, the same as you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, it’s not the same,” Lovino insisted. “I was dirt poor in Italy. I was starving. I was </span>
  <em>
    <span>dying</span>
  </em>
  <span>. America was my second chance, and that’s my reason, not your blind nationalism.” Lorenzo glowered. “Regardless, if you’re fighting for Italy you’re fighting for Mussolini.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You think I don’t have a reason?” he snapped. “Besides, I was there too. ‘Dirt poor and dying’ as you put it, but I stayed, and my life turned out fine. We got our second chance too.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Only because of me and my money,” Lovino retaliated. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine! But where’s your pride of place? What about the people and the place that raised you? Your </span>
  <em>
    <span>home</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” He sat up straighter and tried to grin. “That’s what I’m dying for. Home. What about you? Money?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” Lovino spoke through his teeth. “My father raised me. In America. It </span>
  <em>
    <span>is </span>
  </em>
  <span>my home.” Lorenzo shook his head, but Lovino didn’t want to carry on arguing; Lorenzo wouldn’t understand it, and he was bleeding out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But you’re not going to die. I’ll take you to a doctor.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can’t take me to your trenches, I’ll be shot or taken prisoner.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then we’ll go to yours.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He crawled beside Lorenzo and dumped the rest of his drinking water on his thigh, using the bits of gauze to dry the spot. Then he stuffed some dirty cloth in Lorenzo’s mouth so he wouldn’t make noise as he poured vodka on the wound. Lorenzo bit down on it and dug his heel into the ground, continuing to kick at the earth in pain as Lovino got out his bandages. He did a clumsy job binding it because he was so panicked and soaring on cortisol, but it only had to hold up until he was back in his trenches. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lorenzo had kept an ear out for soldiers while he worked, but Lovino did a quick sweep of the area before he climbed out anyway. Lorenzo rolled onto his stomach and reached his hands up for Lovino to pull him up to the side of the hole. He pushed himself out with his good leg, sprawling on his chest in the mud while Lovino considered what to do. He doubted he could carry Lorenzo long, so instead he helped him up and shrugged one of his arms over his shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It took them a few moments for them to achieve proper balance and limp away from the foxhole. Lorenzo gritted his teeth. He was pale. They were near the barbed wire on the edge of no-man's-land when he stumbled and nearly pulled Lovino down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t walk, Lovino, there’s no point,” he panted. Lovino looked over his sweating face, the blood already soaking through the dressings. There would be no pushing him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.” Lovino picked him up, stumbling under his weight but determined to return him to the Italian trench. He needed to have proper medical attention or he would die, and he would not leave his cousin to bleed out on a battlefront, no matter whose army he fought with.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their progress was slow and staggering, but Lovino had gotten another hit of adrenaline that eased the pain of his aching, exhausted body. He caught the hem of his pants on the barbed wire and gave it a hard tug to free himself, feeling it pull out of his skin. He felt the blood but no pain. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The mud sucked in his boots and made it even more difficult to walk, the drizzling rain clinging to his lashes and forming little blurry spots in his vision. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop,” Lorenzo said. “Put me down. There are American soldiers coming, they’ll see you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t care,” Lovino said. He kept going until his aching legs gave out and collapsed. Lorenzo groaned and sat up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m close. I’ll drag myself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Lovino said. “Don’t be such an idiot, you’ll never make it on your own.” He struggled upright and attempted to pull Lorenzo up, but he was so tired. His muscles locked up and got weak all at once. Lorenzo dropped to the ground again and groaned. Lovino fought to pick him up to no avail.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just stop, Lovino, you’re not strong enough!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>No</span>
  </em>
  <span>!” Lovino yelled. He tried again, and again, and finally he stood Lorenzo on his feet. He threw Lorenzo’s arm over his shoulder. “You have to try and walk,” he begged. Lorenzo nodded, and they pushed through the gritty mud, their breath coming in threads of vapor despite the lateness of the season. Lovino’s chest started hurting. He struggled to breathe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At long last they reached the opposite end of no-man's-land and fell to their knees. Lorenzo called out weakly to the soldiers in the trench, saying it was him, that he had been shot, and that Lovino had helped bring him over. They promised they would come retrieve him, but only once Lovino returned to his side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell your mama I said hello,” Lovino murmured. Lorenzo nodded, raising himself on his elbows.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, Lovino,” he said, breathless. “Not only for this. For the money, too. We never would’ve gotten to Seborga without you.” He smiled. His smile broke Lovino’s heart. He couldn’t leave little Lorenzo out here, bleeding on the muddy ground. There was no guarantee he would be saved. And if he was going to die, Lovino needed to be there with him. He could not die alone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please, Lovino, get out of here,” Lorenzo wheezed. Lovino nodded, but didn’t start away. Instead he hugged Lorenzo as tightly as he could, kissing him on the forehead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll see you again,” Lovino assured him. “All of you. I’ll visit you all in Italy.” Lorenzo smiled, but it was strained.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine, Lovino, but you have to go. Please, before they kill you,” Lorenzo insisted. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Go</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Lovino delayed a few more seconds, then stood up and ran like hell to the American trench, leaping the barbed wire and landing on his injured ankle. He yelped and collapsed on the soft earth, pushing himself up and turning to look back at Lorenzo. He was still lying where Lovino left him, but there were two men beside him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lovino relaxed. He headed for his trench and slipped down against the wet wood, fishing in his pack for the last of his bandages. His cut was muddy, and it needed to be cleaned with alcohol and water. He didn’t have any more, so he limped up the line to find Félix.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” he said, breathless. “Can I have some water? Got a bad cut.” Félix looked him over with an uncharacteristic expression. Something about it was pitying. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here.” Lovino took his canteen with a shaking hand while Félix kept staring at him, taking out his box of Belgas. While Lovino started cleaning his shredded ankle and lit one and began smoking it with the unsettled hurry everyone but Félix had. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lovino…” he shook his head. “Lovino, why would you </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span> that? We saw you from the hill. Davis told the commandant, I… Why did you do that?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lovino stopped pouring water on his cuts. It trickled down his leg, stained claret when the blood resurfaced and spilled over. They had watched him carrying an Italian soldier back to their trenches. In the moment, he hadn’t fully understood the gravity of his actions, but he did now, and he was overwhelmed with nausea.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s my cousin,” Lovino said. He focused on his wound, not willing to look at Félix’s cold expression. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not enough of a reason to let you off.” Lovino met his eyes, blanching. “You’ll be court-martialed. Or sent to prison. Or shot.” A dead weight hung on Lovino’s shoulders and made all his movements sluggish.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s my family, I, I wanted to help…” he stuttered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I understand that, but he’s an Axis soldier,” Félix said. For once his voice wasn’t gentle or forgiving. “This is war, Lovino. You put your country before yourself.” Lovino opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He covered his face with his hands, listening to his watch tick beside his ear, that final gift from his father.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He thought he had done the right thing. Had he? Certainly not to his fellow soldiers. Neither to America. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You put your country before yourself.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Lovino had put America before himself for years. Saving Lorenzo had been the first act of defiance for it since he had stumbled off the boat in New York Harbor with Feliciano asleep in his arms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lorenzo had been willing to die to put Italy before him. Lovino had thought him childish, even stupid, being so entrenched in nationalism he would face death. But that was why he was here in this muddy trench in the first place, wasn’t it? To give his life to America? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>All his adoration for the country pulled away from him suddenly, as though a rapidly receding tide. He thought of Feliciano curled up on the cold sidewalk, shaking and bruised and bloody. María’s brother, insisting he was only reaching for his papers before being shot six or seven or twenty times; she would never know, because she had never seen his body. And Mameko, standing against a long row of barracks, staring at the American flag flying on a watchtower so high above the barbed wire and crying children and exhausted faces. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>How could he be proud of America? How could he be proud of Italy, either, when it had borne fascism and fought alongside Nazi Germany? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was easier to despise Italy, especially after all the waves of propaganda since the start of the war. But being content to hate America and its hypocrisy required effort, because America </span>
  <em>
    <span>had </span>
  </em>
  <span>been a second chance, had made his father successful. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, no. Romulus made himself successful. And as Lovino stared at the darkness of his palms, he realized the magnitude of what his father had done for him, abandoning everything familiar so his sons might have a chance at a better life. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yet Lovino reserved all his gratitude for America, that had never given him the attention he craved so much. He was like Feliciano pulling at his aunt’s skirt, asking to be held, being ignored and brushed aside. But he kept trying, because he was only a child and he wanted her affection.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was different. Feliciano had no mother. Romulus had been right in front of him, yet he poured his gratitude out to America anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>America had done nothing. It was a country, a lifeless land mass, an agreed-upon idea. Romulus was his father who had worked without stopping for months and lived off stale coffee and cigarettes the whole time. Lovino wished he was here now, to pick him up and take him far away from these filthy trenches, to tell him if he had done right or wrong that afternoon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lovino dug his fingers into his hair and listened to his watch tick. He just wanted his papa.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. Chapter 20</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Antonio’s phone rang. He hurried down the steps to the little nook beside the stairwell to pick it up, expecting his agent, perhaps Gilbert or Francis. He didn’t recognize the voice. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Is this Antonio Fernández?” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Antonio confirmed it was. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“I’m Feliciano Vargas, I’m Lovino’s brother. Before he left he asked me to call you if we heard anything from the front.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Antonio’s knuckles when white as he gripped the receiver harder. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“He’s not hurt!” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Feliciano said quickly.</span>
  <em>
    <span> “He’s been given a Bad Conduct Discharge.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Antonio suspected the proper reaction to his news was disappointed or disbelieving; he guessed Bad Conduct was a step or two below from Dishonorable. But he was elated. More than elated. He wanted to jump up and laugh and cry while he was at it. Feliciano may as well have told him the war itself was over. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I…” Antonio cleared his throat. “For what?” </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Aiding a wounded Axis soldier,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Feliciano said. Antonio stopped twirling the phone cord around his fingers. He hadn’t started imagining scenarios, but if he had, that never would have occurred to him. Lovino, with his hot hatred for Fascism and the Axis leaders, along with his degradation of every soldier in their armies, would never stand up for his enemy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Lovino could tell him, as soon as Antonio saw him. And that was all that mattered to him now—knowing when he could see Lovino again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is he coming back to Los Angeles?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I think so. He wrote us. He’s been in prison for two months, but soon he’s being sent to New York. I doubt he plans to stay here, probably for just a week, and then he’ll head to LA. I can have him phone you when he gets here if you’d like.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes please,” Antonio said. He thanked Feliciano for the call and hung up, grinning at the wall. He spun in a circle and laughed, falling back against the balustrade. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lovino was coming home.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>_____________</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lovino arrived at the docks beside New York Harbor so exhausted that when he got off the ship he almost fell over. He stood on the dock for several moments, looking up at the flag. It flew at half mast, fluttering dully in the night wind, utterly uninspiring.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stepped away from the sluggish crowd. Inhaled the sea air. Stared at the distant lights of the city he had grown up in. Standing here, he missed New York more than he ever had in LA or Europe, as only here did his feeling of loss towards the place really sink in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Romulus was waiting for him somewhere to drive him home. Lovino braced himself as he dragged himself along, finding him at the end of the dock beside a lamppost with his hands in his pockets. Lovino wanted to run to him, wanted his father to hug him and tell him it was alright. But of course he didn’t. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Papa.” Lovino slipped into the lamplight, his face waxen from traveling and prison and months on the warfront. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lovino…” Romulus hugged him. Lovino was still holding his suitcase. He pressed his face into Romulus’s coat, closing his eyes. And before he had time to catch himself, he was crying, even though he had promised himself he wouldn’t. Not in front of his father. His face flamed with shame, knowing people were watching him sob like a child, that Romulus was. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re alright, Lovi,” he murmured, rubbing his back. Lovino composed himself and let go, drying his eyes on his sleeve.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He took a deep breath and let it out shakily. “I’m sorry,” he said. “And, I need you to know, the soldier I helped across the line, it was Lorenzo. Your nephew Lorenzo. That was the only reason, I would never have abetted the enemy otherwise, I…” he shook his head. Maybe it wouldn’t matter who it was. Maybe he too put America before Italy, the same as most of the Army. That made it impossible to win his case, though thanks to a questionable officer they had bumped his discharge down from Dishonorable. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why are you apologizing?” Romulus asked. “Do you think I would have rather you leave your cousin to die?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But, but, I don’t know if he lived.” Romulus put a hand on his shoulder so Lovino would look up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You did what you could,” he said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I should have done more.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lovino had never lived in Romulus’s apartment, as he had been in Los Angeles when Romulus and Feliciano left Manhattan. He made himself comfortable in Feliciano’s old room, crowded with some boxes he had yet to take to his own apartment. On top of one sat the stuffed turtle Romulus bought him in Palermo, still in relatively good shape, much to his surprise. Feliciano had been taking care of it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lovino placed his suitcase down and picked it up, holding a leg to his ear and scrunching it so the beans would make the sound that endlessly amused Feliciano when he was a child. He set it down on the bedside table and then went to shower. It had been far too long since he took a proper one and was enlightened to the beauty of hot water, leaning back against the wall and sighing in the heat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Army offered him no civilian clothes, so he raided what was left of Feliciano’s wardrobe for some. He expected them to be too small, but he had the opposite problem. Feliciano remained his tiny younger brother in his head, so he often forgot about his height.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Whether it was because Feliciano’s clothes were a little big or he was unaccustomed to wearing so few layers, Lovino found them uncomfortable. Too loose and light, unlike the secure weight of his uniform.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Some of the British soldiers granted leave used to talk about being home with a certain sadness no one understood; their desire to go home was more savage than thirst or hunger and so no one with the opportunity should be complaining. They said everything seemed off and the whole time they were desperate to return to battle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But that wasn’t what he thought now. Everything seemed odd but familiar all at once, yet it was the guilt that really dragged at him, debilitating guilt. Here he was, laying in a soft bed, in clean, comfortable clothes, far away from the war, rewarded for his crime by being released from service. Abel and Félix remained on the front line when they truly deserved the benefit of going home. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lovino had no bravery to speak of, not like Abel, who seemed to mock the very idea of being afraid just with his courage. Lovino started believing he was like that too. Neither did he have any of Félix’s composure and kindness towards others. Lovino got along with people only because Félix could spin his rudeness into something somewhat endearing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Romulus knocked on the doorframe. Lovino propped himself up on his elbow. “Feli is on his way over. I’m making dinner, any suggestions?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No, he didn’t deserve this. To be home, having his father cook him whatever he wanted for dinner. He should be in that jail cell in Europe, paying for what he did, or out on the front with the others.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t have a preference,” he said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll make your favorite,” Romulus said, grinning. Lovino didn’t smile, watching his father go with a blank expression. He stared at a point on the wall until Feliciano arrived around seven. Lovino forced himself up to go say hello.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Papa told me what you did for Lorenzo,” Feliciano murmured, letting go of Lovino to hold his hands. “You’re so brave, Lovi. You always have been.” Feliciano hugged him again. Lovino’s chin caught on his shoulder. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> taller.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He needed to tell Feliciano that he was wrong. So, inexcusably wrong. He was not brave at all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, before I forget! Antonio wanted you to call him when you got home.” Lovino nodded. “The phone’s in Papa’s office down the hall. And he told me… right, he got his number changed, I wrote it down…” Feliciano went rooting through his pockets while Lovino only stood there, saturated in anxiety.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There you go.” Feliciano dropped the paper into Lovino’s hand. He thanked Feliciano and wandered into the study, loitering on the threshold for several seconds. The room was dusty and woody, the desk covered in papers and empt fountain pens. Beside the door was the small well where the phone sat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He asked the operator for Antonio, burrowing his nails into the edge of Romulus’s desk. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Hello, Tony Carriedo.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Lovino closed his eyes at the sound of his voice. Even muddled over the phone it was a flawless concerto. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Antonio,” Lovino murmured, something knotted in his stomach coming undone. He cradled the phone to his cheek, as though holding Antonio’s voice to him. “It’s Lovino.” </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“You sound tired.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can’t tell that over the phone.” </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Call it my intuition. You just got back from Europe, didn’t you?” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.” </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“How are you?” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Lovino sighed softly and leaned against the wall. He shook his head, still picking at the desk corner. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine, I suppose. Just… just getting used to being home.” Antonio said nothing, waiting for him to go on. But Lovino didn’t, because he didn’t know what to say. “Not good. I’m… I don’t really know. I wish you were here.” His voice wavered.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I know, sweetheart. I’ll be waiting for you when you come back to Los Angeles, I promise.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” he murmured. “I… My dad made dinner, so, I’ll see you soon.” </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Okay. I’ll see you soon, Lovi.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait,” Lovino said. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Hm?” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Lovino swallowed and shook his head a little again. He didn’t want to hang up, but he had nothing else to say, so he dismissed the comment and put the receiver down and went to have dinner. The guilt made it impossible for him to eat, but he forced several mouthfuls anyway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I feel a bit seasick from the trip and the time difference is screwing with me. I think I’m going to get to bed, that might help,” he said. Romulus nodded, though Feliciano gave him a worried look. Lovino had no interest in answering questions, locking himself in Feliciano’s bedroom and collapsing on the bed. He should have been exhausted, as it was the early hours of the morning in France, but he wasn’t tired, not even the slightest bit drowsy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All he could think about was a reality where he hadn’t saved his cousin, where he had left him there to die and returned to his battalion. He would be sleeping in the barracks with them, terrified and cold and uncomfortable but knowing he was helping win the war. He held tighter to the pillow he was clutching to his chest, biting down on the exposed end where the case had slipped off to muffle the sound of his crying.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he composed himself, he stood up and sat at the desk. He found a pencil and a bit of paper in the drawers and wrote a letter to Abel and then one of the Félix. They would understand this guilt, even his lost sense of identity for his homeland. After all, they had been the ones by his side during the most horrifying moments of his life. Two strangers from places he had never been. Not his family, not his friends, not Antonio.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Antonio</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Lovino lifted his pencil and his heart stung for him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m coming back to you, I promise. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He folded his letters and stuffed them in envelopes. He addressed them with the closest base he knew and left them in the outgoing mailbox downstairs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Neither Abel nor Félix would ever receive them.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0021"><h2>21. Chapter 21</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Lovino took a train out west after only three days in New York. Los Angeles had become his real home, the place he ached for when he lay sleepless in bed. Union Station was sunny, if lethargic, and Lovino felt the swell of excitement and incredulity he had felt on his first day in LA. Except today, Antonio was waiting for him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lovino!” Antonio was waving at him near the departure board. Lovino struggled through the crowd over to him, shoving his hands in his pockets to resist reaching for him. They couldn’t touch in such a crowded area.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He slipped outside with Antonio before too many people caught sight of him, diving into the safety of his car. Antonio drove to Lovino’s apartment while he cranked the window down and turned inhaled the California sun he had suffered an impassioned longing for. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The moment they got upstairs, Antonio threw himself at Lovino and nearly knocked him to the floor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lovino! Lovino, I missed you…” he pecked him all over the face, and Lovino laughed and clutched at the back of his suit. Antonio could hug like nobody he knew, not even Feliciano. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I missed you too,” he whispered, taking Antonio’s face in his hands to kiss him. So this was what his lips felt like. Lovino closed his eyes. Antonio’s hands were still around his waist, his mouth was so soft, how could he have gone so long without this? The guilt brushed his ear. Abel and Félix were still on the front, not knowing when they would return home and kiss their girlfriends, trapped trying to pin down a phantom feeling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lovino pulled away. Antonio chased his mouth, but Lovino craned his neck to avoid him. Antonio stared, looking hurt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m all gross from traveling. Let me shower.” Antonio nodded, and Lovino left him to shower. He hadn’t been completely lying, but he needed the time to gather his thoughts and get back into the familiarity of being home. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Antonio was sitting on the bed when Lovino returned, wrapped in a towel, to go digging through his clothes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s wrong, Lovi?” he asked. Lovino hesitated, wondering if Antonio would understand. He hadn’t understood his drive to fight so long ago. Lovino got dressed and dried his hair, biting the inside of his lip. He had tried to, so Lovino told him everything about that unrelenting, starved guilt, about the girl in Alsace whose face wouldn’t let him alone, and soon he was crying all over again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Antonio picked him up and set Lovino on his lap, letting Lovino cry himself tearless against his shirt until he could only dry sob so hard his windpipe felt bruised. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he calmed down some, Antonio got up and returned with a glass of water. He settled Lovino back against him and idly stroked the side of his neck while Lovino drank, his hand shaking. He leaned against Antonio’s touch, breathing in the scent of his laundry detergent and cologne. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I ask you something?” Lovino nodded. “You keep bringing up you worry about whether you made the right decision, so answer me this: why did you save him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because he’s my family, and he’s so young. I couldn’t stand letting him die. I kept thinking about all the experiences he would never have, I…” Lovino trailed off. Antonio put his arms around him, smoothing his hair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re human. We’re supposed to take care of each other.” Lovino gave a weak nod, laying against his collarbone and cradling the empty water glass. Antonio walked into the kitchen to refill it and cut up some nectarines and strawberries.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I went to the farmer’s market this morning, since I figured you would want something fresh after all those months on the front. The food you get out there sounds horrific.” He shuddered. Lovino agreed before downing the glass and then starting on the fruit in silence, allowing Antonio to sneak a few pieces.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you proud of Mexico?” Lovino asked suddenly. Antonio considered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure,” he said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why?” Antonio thought for another few seconds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The culture,” he said. “Our dances, our food, those sorts of things. Well… I mean, since being here, I feel a bit disconnected. I mean, I… I don’t think I realized what Spain did about crushing the culture there until recently, so part of me feels like I don’t have the right to lay claim on it, even though I’ve been involved with Mexican culture my whole life.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So what about Spain?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not much. I’ve never even been,” he added. “The only connection I have is through my parents, but that’s very faint. I mean, deep down I don’t really consider myself Spanish, even though my family is, because </span>
  <em>
    <span>I </span>
  </em>
  <span>never lived there or was raised in that country. Why do you ask?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lovino shrugged. “I’ve been doing a lot of… thinking. Far too much. I wish my brain would slow down. I mean, what kind of evolutionary shitshow </span>
  <em>
    <span>is this</span>
  </em>
  <span>? My </span>
  <em>
    <span>own thoughts </span>
  </em>
  <span>are too complicated for me. I want to know what nasty monkey with this terrible cognitive processing was allowed to fuck </span>
  <em>
    <span>right now </span>
  </em>
  <span>and why it wasn’t stopped immediately.” Antonio laughed. “What are you laughing at, you jerk bastard? This is serious. I’m going to march down to the science centre tomorrow and make them tell me because I’m sick of this!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Antonio laughed louder. “You’re so funny, Lovi,” he said, rubbing his cheek against Lovino’s hair. Lovino grumbled and finished the strawberries, then flopped back against the pillows and rubbed his forehead, glaring at the ceiling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you want some more?” Antonio asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, please.” Antonio got up and returned to the kitchen, returning with a plate of more fruit that he set on the coverlet. He helped himself to a slice of cantaloupe, the fork still hanging out of his mouth when he got up to turn the radio on to the classical station he knew Lovino liked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, Antonio.” He nodded. Lovino got up and went to his wine stash, producing a bottle of Bourgueil and filling two glasses. He took a delicate sip of the wine and shivered. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed good wine,” he said, closing his eyes and sitting down beside him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not more than me, right?”  Antonio asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lovino cracked an eye open. “Oh, definitely more than you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you joking?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t be so dense, of </span>
  <em>
    <span>course </span>
  </em>
  <span>I am.” He set his glass down and put his hand on Antonio’s nape, pulling closer. “I missed you more than you can even imagine,” he murmured, tilting Antonio’s jaw up with his thumb to kiss his throat. “I like this color,” he added, touching the edge of Antonio’s jacket.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me too. María made it for me,” he said, his voice going gauzy. “Francis owed me a favor, and he helped her. Finally got through to the execs.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m glad,” Lovino said. “Tell me more, but not now.” Antonio nodded, drawing his fingertips against Lovino’s wrist, down to his hand, and followed the tendons to the soft indentation of his knuckles, then back up his wrist. Lovino shivered. His skin was far too sensitive; he was getting chills from his lightest touch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lovino slid his unbuttoned blazer off and Antonio encircled his waist with his legs, reaching to undo Antonio’s shirt. He kissed a line down his torso as he did, his lashes fluttering against Lovino’s skin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Antonio curled a hand at Lovino’s hip, splayed the other over his sternum as though he wanted to feel his heartbeat. Maybe he did. Lovino hoped that was why. He disentangled himself from his shirt and started on Antonio’s, fumbling with the buttons because he wouldn’t look up from kissing him. When he finally did, he found Antonio looking at him with an amused expression, laughing under his breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s so goddamn funny?” he asked. “I’ve been celibate over a year, and there was hardly any privacy to jack off, </span>
  <em>
    <span>ever</span>
  </em>
  <span>, unless I was in a foxhole or something, but that wasn’t excellent enticement.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wouldn’t think so,” Antonio said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And honestly, being on the field destroyed my sex drive.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So it took a war to calm you down. I’ll make a note of that,” Antonio mused.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t say war in general,” Lovino said. “I said being near the front. It’s  returned to me now, don’t you worry.” Antonio sighed, bringing the heels of his palms down Lovino’s back, his muscles tensing under the pressure. Lovino dug his nails into Antonio’s traps, trying to anchor himself as he rocked his hips against Antonio’s lap. He pressed his forehead to the side of his neck, his breath staggering along a hum of groans.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Antonio pushed his hands up into Lovino’s hair and fastened his fingers there in a subdued grip. He waited a few seconds, then yanked Lovino’s head backward. Lovino flinched and sucked his breath in through his teeth. Gently, Antonio turned him over so he was back against the pillows and slid down between his legs.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I won’t last five seconds—” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know. Let me get you off once first so you can last a little longer. I’d bet my life that you’re hot enough to get hard again.” Lovino scoffed. “If I had to bet my life on anything, it would be on you being incurably horny.” Antonio pushed his legs further apart and braced his weight on his forearms, working Lovino undone with his mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sighed against the inside of his thigh. “I’ve missed this.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You missed blowing me?” Lovino asked, trying to sound sarcastic but not quite getting there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I missed making you feel good.” He ran his lips back and forth along the arch of Lovino’s hipbone, giving another little sigh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re too nice to me,” Lovino murmured. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You deserve it.” Lovino shook his head and scoffed a little. “You do,” Antonio insisted. “I want you to know that.” He took Lovino’s cock in his hand, feeling Lovino wrap his arms around his head, stroking his hair. Soft breathing brushed Antonio’s lip as he tilted his face down to kiss him, not quite close enough. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go faster,” he breathed, holding tighter to Antonio’s head. Still unsatisfied, he moved his hips in a stuttering, uneven meter. He buried his face in Antonio’s hair, taking in the scent of him, the one he had forgotten and tried so desperately to remember. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Abruptly Antonio let go, shimmying down to lie between Lovino’s legs. He rested his cheek on Lovino’s thigh and stroked his hipbone again while Lovino slid his leg down Antonio’s side, drawing a low sigh that Antonio felt at the edge of his fingertips. He curled over at the touch of Antonio’s tongue, those long, pressing strokes drawing a hazy euphoria from him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Antonio moved back some, but Lovino grabbed his hair. “No, don’t move. I want to come on your face.” Antonio nodded, lapping lightly at his frenulum. Lovino twitched and rolled his knee in against Antonio’s ribs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He couldn’t help flinching when Lovino came. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That was at least thirty seconds, actually,” Antonio said. “Jesus, I can tell you haven’t gotten off in a while,” he added, wiping his eyebrow. “Can you pass me my shirt?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. Lick it off,” Lovino said. “And let me see you do it.” Antonio pushed himself back up to eye level with him. He collected it on his fingers and sucked it off, smiling slightly at Lovino’s expression. He wiped his hand off on the sheet and curled up against Lovino’s chest while he caught his breath, stroking his side lightly until his heartbeat steadied. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You stopped getting your packages from Provence,” Antonio murmured. He broke away and went rummaging through the bureau. “But there’s still some oil left. And </span>
  <em>
    <span>calissons</span>
  </em>
  <span>, if you happen to work up an appetite for a snack.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh shut up and fuck me,” Lovino mumbled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re not even hard,” Antonio said, smiling at him pleasantly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, you know what to do about that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm,” Antonio murmured. “Get on your hands and knees.” Lovino did as he was told. Antonio’s fingertips brushed his lower back, creeping around to his stomach and down to his unbuttoned trousers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The cotton grazed his hips and tickled the sides of his thighs as Antonio eased them down, lifting Lovino’s ankles so he could pull them off. There was a rustle and the clink of Antonio’s belt as he took off his own clothes, kissing Lovino’s jaw as he did. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For as long as Lovino could stand it Antonio revisited all the places he knew Lovino loved.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So many months without it made him forget how much he loved Antonio’s touch. Now he needed to have it all over, wanted Antonio’s softened calluses to rasp on every inch of his skin. He wanted Antonio’s fingers in him first, his lovely hands that knew him so well. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Antonio had his own agenda, taking time to appreciate every slight detail he may have missed before. Lovino smelled refreshing from the shower, savory from his expensive lotion or conditioner or whatever else, Antonio didn’t really know. All he knew was that he was desperate to taste him and make Lovino fall apart like he had before. Part of him worried he wouldn’t have the talent for it anymore, but he would gladly rise to the occasion. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He dragged his tongue along Lovino’s ass, and Lovino sucked his breath in through his teeth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Antonio, what the fuck?” Lovino muttered. Antonio gave no response; his mouth was occupied. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fumbling with his hand, Lovino caught Antonio’s wrist and pushed his hand up his thigh. The subtle movement of his fingers was so deliberate, as though he were painting over man’s original sin and creating a new one. Lovino just about died from it. His whole body palpitated with his heart. He gasped and Antonio chuckled in his ear. God did that make him crazy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Antonio went on kissing him across the shoulders, soft and sporadic as the first drops of rain in a desert storm. His mouth was warm, and Lovino ached for it now that he had gotten what he wanted with Antonio’s hands. He kissed the side of his neck and when he sucked at Lovino’s skin that spot deep in his stomach became so calescent he could no longer stay still. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop wasting time, just fuck me,” Lovino gasped. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t want to hurt you—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lovino shook his head. “You’re not going to. If you took it more often you too would understand the capacity of muscle memory.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay…” Antonio murmured. He started out gentle all the same; he always did, and made Lovino’s chest hum with warmth. But that warmth turned feverish under his sternum and his heart stopped pumping blood, instead filling his veins filled with that unending heat so he burned from under the skin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lovino pushed back against Antonio’s hips. He coveted his moans, the way he cursed under his breath and said Lovino’s name until he forgot his own. Another awkward fumble later Lovino got Antonio’s head down by his ear so he could feel his breath when he groaned in the back of his throat or whispered something incoherent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Use your hand, too,” Lovino begged him. But Lovino’s body could only take so much, and the brush of Antonio’s fingers crossed that line. He came against Antonio’s palm, sinking down onto his forearms against the pillows. Antonio lay down beside him, grazing a hand down his spine while Lovino caught his breath. Antonio kissed his cheek and brushed his hair behind his ear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Welcome home, Lovino,” he whispered. Lovino turned his cheek and rolled over. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sit up,” he said. Antonio pushed himself up against the headboard, Lovino still laying beside him. He smoothed both his hands back and forth along Antonio’s cock in those long, slow movements he had learned he loved. And when he looked down at him with that drunk adoration Lovino felt a stir in his chest like that of tears. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He very much wanted to avoid crying and so he looked away, focusing on the motions of his hands. Antonio’s head lolled against his shoulder and he smiled down at Lovino again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Antonio shrugged. Lovino glared at his smug look. He finished Antonio off with his mouth, rolling onto his back and sighing as he listened to Antonio panting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He rested his cheek on Antonio’s thigh. “It’s nice to be home,” he said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good,” Antonio said, still breathless. Lovino laid beside him, burrowing underneath his arm and laying against his shoulder. He closed his eyes, holding on to Antonio harder, trying to undo all the time away. When Antonio turned onto his side he raised his arm so Lovino could nestle in against his chest. Antonio put his arms around him, brushing his spine lightly. He kissed the top of Lovino’s head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you,” Lovino whispered. He heard Antonio chuckle under his breath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you too. So much.” Lovino closed his eyes. And in that second, he just fell apart. Simple as that. One second he was whole and then he was nothing. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0022"><h2>22. Chapter 22</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Lovino drove them out to the pier in Santa Monica as it got dusky. The crowd was thinner than usual, but the place was by no means deserted. A band was playing brassy jazz somewhere, and it carried over their heads and through the waves below and over the murmuring palm trees by the road.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They made it two steps when four people flocked to Lovino, asking for his autograph and thanking him for his service in the military. News of his Bad Conduct clearly hadn’t been spread to the media. Antonio supposed they all saw him as a hero, making up their own stories as to why he had come home before serving a full term. It helped that the cut Lovino had gotten from the barbed wire had gotten infected back in prison and was still struggling to heal so he occasionally limped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then again, Antonio suspected it wouldn’t matter to these people if Lovino had jumped in a German trench and offered his allegiance to them; he was the god of their Hollywood shrine and they would fall to their knees for him, whatever he did. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lovino seemed irritated with the attention, to Antonio’s surprise. Maybe it was all the “thank you for your service-s” and saluting. They went down underneath the pier to wade in the ocean, listened to the talking and muffled jazz above them. Antonio wished he could catch Lovino’s wrist as he reached to run a hand through his sweaty hair and kiss him while they stood up to their ankles in the sea, but he knew there were too many people lurking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When it dropped dark, they walked back to Lovino’s convertible, parked beneath some stringy palm trees. Lovino fished in the trunk for some towels and dried his legs off, complaining about the sand. With the sun down it had gotten cooler and Antonio wrapped a towel around himself as a makeshift blanket, tossing the rest in the backseat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m hungry,” Lovino announced. They hadn’t realized how late it was, and all that was open were a few fish shacks. Lovino pulled into the parking lot of a little place by the beach where they had some very greasy fried Halibut. Lovino wanted a beer to “complete the experience” but Antonio forbade it because he was driving. They stayed at the restaurant until near midnight, laughing too loud and so hard their ribs got tired, until the employees just about shoved them out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, they drove to Antonio’s house in the Hills. When Lovino saw it he whistled and grinned at Antonio, who gave him a sleepy grin right back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Carry me over the threshold,” he said, putting an arm over Antonio’s shoulders. Antonio picked him up. Lovino laughed, hooking his arms around Antonio’s neck and nuzzling his cheek. Antonio kissed him on the nose and Lovino tugged the towel over Antonio’s shoulders tighter as he meandered up to the door. He almost dropped Lovino trying to unlock it, but Lovino latched on and refused to budge as he locked it again. Antonio carried him upstairs and set him on the bed, laying down beside him just as Lovino sat up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Holy shit,” he said. He was staring at the opposite side of the room where there were bay windows looking down on Los Angeles. Lovino climbed off the mattress and walked over to it, kneeling on the window seat and gazed at the sprawl of the city.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m going to have to move in with you,” he muttered. Antonio chuckled and settled next to him, rested his chin against Lovino’s shoulder and ran the back of his knuckles up and down Lovino’s arms, kissing him behind the ear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s go to the beach,” Lovino said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The</span>
  <em>
    <span> beach</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes! We can drive to Santa Monica and go skinny dipping.” He draped himself against Antonio’s chest and caressed his cheek, still with that smile that Antonio associated as the precursor for chaos.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have a swimming pool, you know,” Antonio said. “I’ll show you.” He stood up and offered Lovino his hand, pulling him upright.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The deck was on a hill with a view of the Valley. It smelled of dust and sage and the few flowering potted cacti scattered about.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lovino stripped and jumped into the inky pool, splashing Antonio, making him yelp. He resurfaced and shook his hair out of his face, paddling over to the edge and hanging off the wall.“Get in or I’ll yank you by the ankles.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Antonio sighed and undressed, feeling Lovino’s eyes on him the entire time. He had forgotten the intensity of Lovino’s stares and was reminded of that first night he had met him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Antonio placed his clothes on a chaise and took the steps in instead of jumping, which disgruntled Lovino. He ducked underwater and came up behind Antonio, swinging his arms over his shoulders and holding onto his hips with his knees.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m cold,” he said against Antonio’s back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This was </span>
  <em>
    <span>your </span>
  </em>
  <span>idea,” Antonio spluttered. Lovino huffed and let go, diving back under.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a little past two when they finally stumbled back inside, toweled off, and collapsed into bed. Antonio would have to call in sick tomorrow.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>_____________</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lovino got in touch with his agent the following afternoon. He arranged to do some screen tests the following day, deciding to enjoy Antonio’s house for the rest of his free time. He lay on one of the chairs beside a particularly flowery cactus and helped himself to Antonio’s cigarettes, the hot sun making him drowsy. But no sooner had he let his mind relax that thoughts of Abel and Félix surfaced again. Lovino was sure they would love to have a smoke beside a pool above Los Angeles too, to feel the summer sun on their skin and know they were safe. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sat up. He wanted a drink. Where did Antonio keep his alcohol? He found it in a little under fifteen minutes and poured himself a glass of gin, then returned to the pool. He finished it but felt no better, so he retrieved the bottle and set it on the deck beside him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Antonio returned from the studio early evening, finding Lovino sitting with his feet in the pool and looking up at the wavering palm trees with his sunglasses pushed up. The bottle was sitting next to his hip; he had forgone a glass.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I see you found my drinks,” he noticed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll replace it, don’t worry,” Lovino assured him. Antonio picked up the gin and put the cap on. He knew he hadn’t opened this one yet; he hated the spirit after a near-death experience with it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You didn’t have all of this yourself, did you?” he asked. Lovino shrugged. “You can’t drink that much, Lovino,” Antonio insisted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I won’t dry your supply,” Lovino said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not why I’m concerned,” Antonio pressed, but decided to drop it. There was no need jumping to conclusions about Lovino’s habits and scaring himself. But in the following months he continued to find the bottles near empty in the cabinet where he kept his drinks, stuffed away so he wouldn’t notice. But he always found them, unless they had disappeared altogether, an increasingly common occurrence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Antonio began panicking. Lovino already drank heavily outside of the confines of his house; now that he was back in Hollywood, he threw himself into his old lifestyle, going to various bars and clubs until the early hours of the morning.  Lovino didn’t dance, or talk to his friends, instead drank until he blacked out and Antonio had to take him home before strangers mobbed him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He touched on the subject a few times, but Lovino waved it off and said he was overreacting. Maybe he was. Antonio didn’t want to believe that Lovino was an alcoholic, so he turned a blind eye for a few more weeks and trusted him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lovino couldn’t let go of Lorenzo. He still had no idea if he lived or died, and if he had died, Lovino should have left him in that foxhole. Then he would have had Lovino beside him, and he would still be at war, as he should be, not here with Antonio doting on him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he didn’t want Antonio to know. It wasn’t his job to absolve Lovino of his guilt or look after him, that was his own responsibility. Antonio worried over him constantly, and Lovino couldn’t stand it. It was like he was trying to provoke the truth out of him. He probably was, but Lovino wouldn’t let him have it, so he stopped staying at his house. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When they were alone Antonio picked fights with him about unimportant things with the sole intention of turning the conversation to Lovino’s drinking, trying to shock some truth from him. But Lovino continued telling him to calm down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So Antonio gave up fighting. He was too frustrated to put all his energy into arguing anymore. At the same time, he didn’t want to leave Lovino alone and would crawl into bed beside him at the end of the day. Lovino often faced away from him, but he never pulled away when Antonio ran his fingers through his hair. Often Antonio curled against his back and pressed his face to his shoulder, Lovino would push his fingers through his and hold his hand until they fell asleep. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lovino,” Antonio whispered into the dark. “You can talk to me.” Lovino squeezed his hand but didn’t speak. Antonio wanted to take his hand back. He was angry that Lovino was being so selfish and unwilling to tell him anything, but underneath that he just felt hopeless that he couldn’t do anything for him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In March Antonio had to drive Lovino home from the set twice because he had shown up drunk. He tried to keep a level head the first time but the second he couldn’t stop himself from snapping all over again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t understand why you won’t talk to me,” he said, staring at the road while Lovino remained in abject silence. “You’re obviously upset, and I want to help you, but you won’t tell me anything. I’m so sick of it, it’s like you don’t even want help, you just want to suffer and feel sorry for yourself.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lovino drew a shaky breath, raised his head and looked at him. “It’s not your job to help me,” he said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Someone has to! My God, Lovino, all you do is drink! You’re going to die if you keep doing this to yourself, do you understand that? You will </span>
  <em>
    <span>die. </span>
  </em>
  <span>And maybe you don’t care, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>I </span>
  </em>
  <span>care, and your little brother cares, and your dad, and Emma and a lot of other people. So for once stop thinking about yourself and think about us.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh don’t go making yourself the victim,” Lovino snapped. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not. I’m telling you you’re fucking selfish and I’m sick of it. I’m sick of you acting like I’m overreacting when you can’t leave the fucking house without a bottle of wine in your system. I love you, Lovino. I want to be in your life. I want to be there for you when you’re hurting, and so it upsets me that you keep telling me it’s not my problem. Because, if you haven’t noticed, you are a goddamn problem; I just had to leave work to drive you home.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” Lovino said. His voice was stiff, but Antonio knew he meant it. Even so, he didn’t want an apology. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t apologize to me. Just… just let me be there for you.” Lovino closed his eyes. He didn’t want to cry. Antonio saw him bite down on his lip and he sighed. “I didn’t mean to yell at you.” Lovino looked out the window. </span>
</p><p><span>“I want to go to your house.” Antonio nodded. He drove Lovino up to the Hills and then returned to the studio, leaving Lovino alone in that big, empty house. He sank down on the kitchen floor, and his vision blurred with tears. Antonio was right. He had let himself go so far, too far. To the point he couldn’t imagine pulling himself out, there was</span> <span>no way out. </span></p><p>
  <span>Lovino curled on the floor of Antonio’s kitchen, half-drunk and exhausted and so, so lonely, staring at the shadowy steps through a glaze of tears. Antonio had hid his alcohol a while ago, but Lovino still had a flask on him from his own apartment. He felt disgusted with himself but he couldn’t help it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He drained the rest of the flask and set it down, pushing the heels of his hands against his forehead. He needed to stop thinking like that, it only made everything worse, but he was powerless against it. He needed to talk to Antonio, just needed him, he would listen. Lovino knew that. But how much more could Antonio take? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was a rising Hollywood star, despite the war, maybe because of it. Lovino remembered those days, when there wasn’t a door that didn’t open for him, when his name tumbled on everyone’s tongues, when he did nothing but delight and audience with his new highs. He did not surprise them anymore. They expected greatness from him, so he would only be news if his acting suffered, and it was going to if something wasn’t done. But he was too weak to pull himself up, even to stand. He always had been.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Perhaps not always. Once he had been invincible. Untouchable. Magnificent. All the world tucked his back pocket, bending and even breaking for him if he really, really wanted it. Antonio must feel that now too, that immortality, that power high. Whatever he wished for danced just at the edge of his fingertips, so why would he want Lovino?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Antonio didn’t anger easily, Lovino knew that about him. But he had pushed him to it. Had pushed and pushed until Antonio looked bitter at the sight of him. So how long would it be before he let go of Lovino and reached for someone else’s hand? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lovino would lose him, and it would be all his fault. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0023"><h2>23. Chapter 23</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Antonio woke to the cold. His duvet was on the floor and he was clutching only the thin cotton blanket. He jolted upright, noticing that Lovino was gone. His heart got heavy in his chest and he stumbled to his feet, running downstairs to the kitchen. He wasn’t there. He whirled around, pulse racing, when he heard the toilet flush down the hall and bolted to the bathroom.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The light was off. He flicked it on. Lovino stood at the sink, rinsing his mouth out and holding onto the neck of a bottle in his free hand. He looked up, and when he saw Antonio his swollen eyes filled with tears and he sank down beside the bathtub. Antonio fell to his knees in front of Lovino, searching for something to say, something comforting, something helpful.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But what he said instead was, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>goddamnit</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Lovino!” He wrestled the bottle from him, and threw it into the hallway, where it shattered. Lovino flinched at the sound. The remainders of the wine crept in and lined the spaces between the tiles beneath them, flowing slow and uneven.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” Lovino gasped, latching on to Antonio’s shirt. “I’m sorry, please don’t be mad at me!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop apologizing!” Antonio yelled, grabbing his arms. “Please stop… stop apologizing…” Antonio’s shoulders shook. He pressed his hands to his face and then he was crying, which only deepened Lovino’s guilt. He held in his tumble of apologies and fell into Antonio’s lap, clumsily wiping his tears away, rocking him on the frigid bathroom floor until he had to throw up again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Antonio crawled over to him, resting a hand on his back. “I’m going to help you. I </span>
  <em>
    <span>want </span>
  </em>
  <span>to help you.” Lovino tried to nod. He sat up, leaning against the side of the toilet, pressing his cheek against the chilly porcelain. Antonio helped him up so he could wash his mouth out, gripping his arm because he shook too much to stand properly. He was exhausted and dehydrated and probably starving, too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Antonio stayed with him in the bathroom until the sun came up, sitting against the bathtub with Lovino in his arms. Convinced he wouldn’t vomit again, Antonio brought him up to bed so he could sleep. He got him a glass of water and left him a few pills to ease his headache. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Antonio forced himself back downstairs, knowing there was nothing else he could do for Lovino in the moment but let him sleep. Then he picked up the phone and dialed Lovino’s agent, asking for the number of the director he was working with. She gave it to him. He stared at the number for several minutes, worried he might be getting ahead of himself. He had no real plan in mind, only a vague thought solidified into a hazy idea about getting Lovino out of Los Angeles, if only for a few months. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He picked up the phone again. “Hello. I’d like to speak with Samuel Kirkland, the number is…” he trailed off to pick up the scrap of paper, then read the number off. The operator connected him and he folded the paper over and over between his fingers. Samuel was in his early thirties, and Antonio prayed he would understand and terminate Lovino’s contract, or void it for a few months. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Hello? Who’s this?” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tony Carriedo,” Antonio said. “I’m… a friend of Lovino Vargas. I was told he’s working on a picture you’re directing, and I wanted to know about when his contract is set to end.” </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“You’re an actor, aren’t you? Not a lawyer?” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Samuel asked. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Because I’ll be honest, I’ve got no idea if I’m allowed to tell you about legal documents if not.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please,” Antonio said. “He’s got a terrible drinking problem, you know that, he’s shown up drunk twice. He’s getting bad, I—he needs to get help, but that means getting out of LA, taking a break from work. I offered to help him, but I can’t schedule the trip if I don’t know when he’s free.” </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Right, well, I still can’t give the documents. But the way it’s going I’m thinking we won’t be done filming until next June.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Next June</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Antonio asked. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Please </span>
  </em>
  <span>consider voiding it. It benefits you as much as me, after all, if he goes off the rails he won’t be able to do a good job acting in your movie.” There was a brief moment of silence, and he expected Samuel was considering. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“You got a lawyer?” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Antonio said. He thought of his brother João, as he was an attorney. But he had studied in Mexico, rendering him useless in the California court system, plus he focused on property law. Additionally, Antonio had forgotten that João wasn’t even available to practice at the moment, even if by some bending of reality he could go to court; he was in San Antonio with the 201st Fighter Squadron. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unlike Antonio, João was pulled towards the fight, whether it was out of pride for Mexico or wanting to end the war or some other possibility Antonio hadn’t thought of. Mexico’s attempts to introduce conscription had been disastrous, which was why Antonio and the other men considered prime for war were allowed to stay in Mexico, working in the factories and helping supply the United States Army. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>João was not a pilot, so he would be doing ground control, something that had greatly relieved his mother and Antonio himself. But he was at war, meaning Antonio had no hope of even calling him for advice. All he had was what he could say right now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know your uncle. Arthur,” Antonio said. This was an awful trajectory to take his argument, but it was all he had. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Oh yeah?” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Antonio panicked. He didn’t know how to use that point for leverage, if he meant it as a threat, or what. He had nowhere to take it. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“You’re not holding him over my head now, are you?” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Antonio said. “I’ll be honest, I don’t know what to do. My close friend is in crisis, and I want to help him. I’m no good at arguing. I’ve said my piece, so…” Antonio doubted he was going to get the outcome he wanted. He had just given up without much of a fight, which felt awfully disrespectful to Lovino. He should have fought harder. Maybe he still could. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’ll talk to my lawyer. See what he can do about extending them or cancelling them. I really want Lovino in my picture, cause he’s real good, but suspending filming for him is a pain in the ass. How long do you think it’ll take to get him clean? How bad is he?” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Antonio considered this question. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had no real answer, no expertise in alcoholism. It remained something distant and unfamiliar his whole life, but now he was down a dark alley with it and had no idea what step was right other than getting Lovino off it. He didn’t know how long that would take, or how long it would be before Lovino could resist the craving for it, particularly if he relapsed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know. Bad,” Antonio said lamely. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’ll see what I can do for you, and call you back when I know.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Antonio nodded, thanking him. He was so relieved he felt buzzed. Antonio celebrated his victory for a brief moment, then called his mother. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Tonino?” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi, Mama,” he said. He relaxed when he heard her voice, if even a little. She could help him. “Can I ask a favor?” </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“You aren’t about to ask me for money, are you?” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“No!” Antonio insisted. “I have a good friend who’s, he’s got problems with drinking too much. He needs to get out of Los Angeles, and I figured he could stay with me in Guanajuato. And…” he paused.“I need your help, Mama. I want to help him, but I don’t really know what to do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’m sorry, Tonino,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>she said. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“He’s welcome to come stay with us. Though I’m sure your father will be more help than me, his grandpa had a horrible problem with alcoholism. Runs in our family, you know, you should be careful.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Antonio wished he had heard this information long before he had come to Los Angeles. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They continued discussing logistics for a while, and when Antonio finally hung up, it was late into the afternoon. His vague thought was now a plan, if even a hesitant one. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Antonio?” He turned around to see Lovino standing against the door frame, dressed although bedraggled. “I know you don’t want me to apologize, but you have to let me.” He took a deep breath. “I am so sorry, Antonio.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Antonio walked over to him and rested his hands on Lovino’s cheeks. “It’s not your fault, sweetheart,” he muttered, brushing his thumbs along Lovino’s cheekbones.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It is entirely my fault,” Lovino said. “But forget that. I’m apologizing for not coming to you sooner, for not listening to you.” Lovino shook his head. “That wasn’t fair to you. I treated you like shit.” Lovino sat down on the couch. Antonio settled next to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Listen, Lovi,” he started, taking his hand. “I thought we could go to Guanajuato for the summer. I’m sure it’ll be easier to do something away from Los Angeles, and my mom will put you to work to take your mind off it. After you make it through withdrawal, that is.” Lovino winced. “I’ll be with you the whole time, I promise,” he said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Promise me another thing.” Antonio raised his eyebrows. “That you’ll still get out of the house and enjoy yourself. Don’t let me become your only priority.” Antonio nodded. “Good. Thank you, Antonio.” Lovino climbed onto his lap and hugged him. Antonio tucked his face into his shoulder and hugged him back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ll be okay,” he murmured. Lovino smiled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know.” </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0024"><h2>24. Chapter 24</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Lovino started feeling nauseous on the train to Mexico, an unrelenting nausea that was by no means faint. The stuffy air in the train car and unending motion did little to help, so for the entire train ride and car trip to Antonio’s house he stared out the window and prayed that he could hold off until he had access to a bathroom. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was woozy and when they climbed out of the cab. When they got to the stoop, Antonio put his hand on his forehead. His face was prickling hotly and Antonio’s touch felt odd and uncomfortable, so he pushed him off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve got a fever,” he said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do?” Antonio nodded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll get you some water when we get inside.” He rang the doorbell, putting a hand on Lovino’s elbow; he was swaying on the spot and Antonio feared he might faint. His mother answered the door. She hugged Antonio, who dropped the suitcases and hugged her back while Lovino continued to waver on the spot. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You must be Mr. Vargas,” she said brightly. Lovino nodded. “Isabella,” she said, shaking his head. “You poor thing, how are you feeling?” She hesitated a moment, then touched his red face lightly, getting the same concerned look that Antonio had when he realized how feverish Lovino was. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Extremely ill,” Lovino forced out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can tell, you’re burning up…” She turned to Antonio. “Tonino, take him upstairs, I’ll get him some water.” Antonio nodded, putting a hand on Lovino’s forearm and helping him up the stairs. Lovino sank down on the edge of Antonio’s bed, his head in his hands. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His mother came back up the stairs with a bottle of water from the fridge. “I’m sorry we don’t have a guest room. You can have the bed to yourself, Antonio will sleep downstairs.” Antonio nodded, though he had been intending on sleeping in his own room, lying about setting up a separate bed on the floor or some such story. But his mother had just banished him to the couch, so the couch it would be. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where’s your bathroom?” Lovino asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Down the hall,” Antonio said. He nodded and slowly stood up. Antonio went downstairs to sort out of his sleeping situation, which would be a miserable one. Once he had finished despairing over this arrangement, he went back upstairs and found that Lovino had still not left the bathroom. He walked down the hall and knocked softly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you alright?” he asked, opening the door a crack. Lovino nodded from his spot on the floor. “Oh, Lovi…” Antonio closed the door and sat down across from him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t stay in here,” Lovino muttered. “I don’t want you to see me throwing up my internal organs and then some.” Antonio ignored him, reaching out to feel his face. Then he stood up and sorted through the cupboard over the sink for a washcloth, drenching it in cold water. He sat down beside Lovino and pressed it to the back of his neck, making him flinch and shiver.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’ll help the fever,” Antonio said. Lovino nodded, relaxing despite the cold droplets sinking into his shirt collar. He pushed Antonio off suddenly and grabbed the sides of the toilet, dry-heaving for several seconds, attempting to wave Antonio out of the bathroom. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Antonio,” he said weakly, raising his head. “I know you want to help, but I don’t want you to see me like this.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In sickness and in health,” Antonio muttered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I appreciate that you’re here for me, but I want to be alone during this, please.” He met Antonio’s eyes and saw his hurt expression, so he took one of Antonio’s hands in his weak, shaking one. “I’ll need your help more when this is over. There’s nothing you can do for me right now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If that’s what you want,” Antonio murmured.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It is,” Lovino said. Antonio frowned, but he kissed Lovino’s hand and left him. He would’ve kept a vigil outside the door if his parents hadn’t stripped the house of alcohol before they had arrived. Instead he went downstairs to have dinner, only returning to check on Lovino late in the evening</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was sprawled out on the bathroom floor, shivering. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lovi?” Lovino’s eyelids shivered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go,” he rasped. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let me check on you at least,” he begged. Lovino nodded, closing his eyes. “When was the last time you threw up?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Two hours ago,” he muttered. “Just bile. Can I have some water? Just a little?” Antonio helped him sit up and offered him the bottle, making sure he took the smallest possible sip and then taking it back. He set it down beside him and then pressed his hand to Lovino’s forehead. His fever felt worse. He had sweat through his shirt and the ends of his hair were wet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t worry,” Lovino whispered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m your boyfriend, I’m going to worry,” Antonio said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m… gonna be fine. Been through worse than this,” he took Antonio’s hand. “Trust me.” Antonio sighed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” Antonio said. “I love you,” he added, kissing the back of his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s nice,” Lovino murmured. Antonio made him a makeshift bed on the bathroom floor out of towels, placing another cold washcloth on his nape. He gave him another sip of water and then settled into the cramped space between the sink and toilet, stroking his hair, intent on staying with him until he fell asleep. Lovino reached up and took his hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go to sleep, Antonio,” he whispered. “Please, get some rest.” Antonio nodded, sighing softly and kissing his hot forehead. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>_____________</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Antonio had been right: Lovino loved Isabella’s rose garden. The bushes were nearly as tall as him, and the soft petals grazed his skin when he walked past them. He sprawled on the brittle grass between two dusty trees that opened up towards the pale, softened orange sky. The heat was drier here than in Los Angeles, and it smelled stronger of sunbaked sand and dust. He breathed it all in beside the fragrant smell of the roses, closing his eyes and not opening them until he heard Antonio navigating the bushes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was holding two glasses of horchata </span>
  <em>
    <span>agua fresca</span>
  </em>
  <span>, one of which he offered to Lovino. He sat down against one of the trees and looked up at the clouds lazing by. Lovino took a sip. It was better than he remembered, but perhaps that was because Antonio’s mother had made it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did my mom make you pull weeds all day?” he asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not all day. Just the hottest four hours of it before she left,” Antonio chuckled in his glass. “Oh, I’m glad my agony is so amusing to you,” Lovino said. “It’s for the best that you keep me busy, though. And now I can’t tell if the sweating and nausea is withdrawal or heat stroke.” Antonio didn’t laugh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Speaking of, how are you feeling?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Better. I’m not actually nauseous, still sleeping through the night.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good,” Antonio said. He reached out and took Lovino’s hand, squeezing it. “I’m really proud of you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” Lovino said. “Although if we’re not careful, you might get me on this instead.” He wiggled the cup, making the ice cubes bump against the chilly glass.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t joke about that,” Antonio murmured.  “But it is good. Mama makes it with tiger nuts like they do in Spain, not rice. Between us, I like the rice version better.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I disagree. What we </span>
  <em>
    <span>can </span>
  </em>
  <span>agree on is that anything she makes is better than yours.” Antonio sighed sadly. “I’m trying to be honest with you,” Lovino said. He rolled onto his stomach and reached up to graze a hand over Antonio’s hair. “Your parents got to Mexico City alright?” He nodded. “We have the house to ourselves, hmm?” Antonio raised his eyebrows. “But let’s get dinner first.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You feel up to it?” Antonio asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s been a month,” Lovino said, exasperated. “You won’t let me leave the house. You’ll be right by me the whole time, you’ll catch me if I try anything. Let’s go see a picture and go out to eat, and then come back here, let you have a chance to sleep on your own bed for a change,” he murmured, nibbling Antonio’s earlobe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All three, but it has to be romance.” Lovino gave an exasperated sigh, but he eventually agreed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He ended up understanding far less than he had expected to, leaving him with little sense of the plot. He often had to lean over and ask Antonio to explain what was happening. He answered in a clipped, exasperated whisper, as though it was Lovino’s own fault for being lost.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Isn’t that her dad?” he muttered. Antonio nodded. “Then why is she hiding from him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Because </span>
  </em>
  <span>he’s going to send her to Cuba, have you been paying any attention at all?” Lovino gave him a look, but Antonio missed it because of his focus on the movie. Lovino sat back in his seat, sensing Antonio might throw him out of the theatre if he asked any more questions.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The music was rising as the lead ran out onto her father’s balcony, clutching the lapels of a rugged but charming man with a sword at his side. Their faces were close but they had yet to kiss as he went into a monologue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He has the most attractive voice I’ve ever heard,” Lovino commented in an undertone. “Other than yours.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, yes. Hugo Alvario. Fun story, we acted in play together when I was twelve, and he became the sole object of my affection. He’s responsible for me realizing I was gay.” Lovino snorted and someone shushed him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s who you had your sexual awakening to?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, when he was fifteen and barely pubescent. He’s a lot more attractive now, but in the unachievable movie-star way, you know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sometimes you forget we’re movie stars,” Lovino pointed out. “We should see if he’s lurking around in the theatre and invite him back to your place.” Antonio gave an irritated sigh. “Would you really reject that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lovino, you’re spoiling the romance,” Antonio complained.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am </span>
  <em>
    <span>creating </span>
  </em>
  <span>the romance. For you,” he added. Antonio didn’t answer, because Hugo’s character had given some dramatic announcement that made the whole theatre draw a collective gasp. Lovino felt extremely left out. He sulked for the rest of the movie, but dinner atoned for it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The restaurant was in an outdoor courtyard, buzzing with talk and the clink of cutlery on plates. He glanced at the bar and pulled his eyes away, focusing on the menu in front of him and trying to ignore the withering in the back of his throat, the pull in his stomach. Before the waiter could even ask them what they wanted to drink, Antonio told him they would both have water and pushed the menus into his hand. Lovino was grateful for it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Say something to me in Spanish,” Lovino said</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I like the sound of it,” he said, shrugging.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Preferably something scandalous.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re in a restaurant,” Antonio hissed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A very</span>
  <em>
    <span> loud </span>
  </em>
  <span>restaurant.” He smiled and traced the rim of his glass with his fingers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Antonio sighed. He leaned forward. “My brother said this to some twenty-year-old at a party when he was sixteen and got half a can of beer to the face.” Lovino raised his eyebrows. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Si besarte fuera pecado, caminaría feliz por el infierno</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lovino mock shivered. “Oo, you lower your voice when you speak Spanish, have you noticed that?” Antonio shook his head. “Say it again. Slower this time.” Antonio shook his head resolutely. Before Lovino had a chance to argue, someone tapped him on the shoulder. Antonio turned around, surprised by a trio of girls at his side, fidgeting like some restless birds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you Tony Carriedo?” The tapper asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” he confirmed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Could we have an autograph? If it’s not too much trouble?” Antonio nodded. They were speaking Spanish, but Lovino guessed what was happening, particularly by their blush and overt excitement. This was the first time on an outing only Antonio had been recognized, and that gave Lovino a slight bite of envy. But he shook it off. This was Antonio, and he wanted Antonio to have all the success he had and more. And for perhaps the first time he told himself that, he believed it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They chatted for a bit while Lovino sipped his water idly until the girls left. “Sorry about that,” Antonio said. Lovino waved it off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You always put up with it. Remember that night on the pier? I got stopped by about fifty people.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I remember it being twelve,” Antonio corrected. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, well, let’s not argue over specifics,” Lovino replied. “Let’s argue about getting you to indulge me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not saying that again, it can be anything else.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t care what it is, I just want to hear you roll your r, I’ve never heard someone do it like you,” Lovino said, leaning closer to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ha, that’s because I couldn’t do it when I was a kid so I’m always overcompensating and sound ridiculous.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I disagree. I want you to do that against m—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> finish that sentence,” Antonio cut in. Lovino huffed and downed his fourth glass of water, rolling it between his palms. “Are you okay?” Antonio asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yes, but I really want some wine, so this is my attempt at satiating the thirst by gorging on water.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We can leave, if you need,” Antonio insisted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. We’re halfway through dinner,” Lovino said. “Besides, I have to learn to handle being around alcohol when we get back to Los Angeles. Though, I’ve been considering a more chaste lifestyle when we do. I admit it’s quite exhausting for me, an aged man of twenty-seven. My hair is going to start falling out soon and the arthritis will kick in. Such an old man can’t possibly go gallivanting about town with the youth. Still, I do feel a little sad about it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The end of an era,” Antonio agreed. “I’m so glad you said that. Not only because of keeping you off drinking, also because I can’t keep up with you. Look at me, thirty-one, I may as well be drafting my will. I’ll be doddering off to the grave in a year.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t talk like that,” Lovino said. “I wouldn’t know what I’d do without you.” Antonio blushed. “You seem surprised to hear that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Antonio smiled. “I’m not,” he murmured. He pretended to be moving the candle from the centre of the table to brush his hand over Lovino’s. Then he leaned in and lowered his voice to ensure no one but Lovino would hear him. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Te quiero. Para siempre.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>That horrible pickup line means "if kissing you were a sin, I'd happily walk through hell" and it is one of the few things I know how to say in Spanish</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0025"><h2>25. Chapter 25</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Antonio hummed under his breath to the record playing in the living room, flipping the gas off and pulling two coffee cups from the cupboard. The motions of making coffee were comforting, particularly on sunny mornings like these when the light touched the bright yellow tiles and white walls. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Antonio went upstairs to his room, nudging the door open with his foot. “Good morning,” he murmured. Lovino made a muffled noise into the blankets, not opening his eyes. Antonio sat down beside him and smoothed his hair off his forehead. “You have to get up, Lovi. Our train leaves in a few hours, and you still haven’t packed.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine,” Lovino groaned, rubbing his eyes and slowly sitting up. “Did you bring me coffee?” Antonio nodded. “Oh, bless you.” He reached for it, blowing across the surface lightly while Antonio sifted through their tickets back to Los Angeles and made sure their passports were out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I forgot,” Antonio began. “Francis finally got around to sending our mail. How kind of him.” He held up a stack of letters that had been resting on his suitcase. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll read them on the train,” Lovino said. He finished his coffee and then started packing, snatching one of Antonio’s sweaters while he wasn’t paying attention. Antonio had gotten his things together two nights before, so he was sorting through his mail, hoping for a letter from João. But he was off fighting in the Pacific and wouldn’t be home until the war was over, whenever that may be. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you looking for?” Lovino asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A letter from my brother,” Antonio muttered. He sighed and leaned back in his desk chair, which gave a sad creak. “I suppose I won’t be hearing from him until this is over. Until then, no news is good news.” Lovino took his hand. Antonio tossed the rest of the letters down. “The war will be over soon. Italy’s out and everyone is saying Germany’s days away. Hitler’s gone insane. Well, that is to say, his insanity has revealed a fresh side.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hope so,” Lovino murmured, sighing. “Though, Italy hasn’t exactly been known for its military prowess past 476 AD.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lovino finished packing a quarter of an hour before their taxi to the train station arrived. He lurked on the curb while Antonio said goodbye to his parents, picking lint off his sweater.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re going to leave the house like that?” Antonio teased. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut up,” Lovino snapped.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You like that one?” Antonio asked, settling into the backseat beside him and tugging at his sleeve casually. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s comfortable and I got cold is all,” Lovino said. He was glad for the sweater on the train, bunching up the sleeves to buffer him and the window. Sleep teased his conscious while he listened to the light sounds of the wheels and Antonio opening envelopes beside him. He mushed the soft knit fabric to his cheek, inhaling detergent and desert. At some point he would make Antonio wear it so it would smell like him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He went in and out of sleep, relaxed by the lulling motion of the train. Antonio wished he could let Lovino lay on his shoulder instead of the window in that neck-breaking way that left him stiff and sore when he woke. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m hungry,” he mumbled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you want a sandwich?” Antonio asked. Lovino nodded and took the sandwich Antonio offered him, munching it sleepily. Antonio leaned on his hand and smiled at him. He wished he could kiss Lovino on the forehead and hug him, he looked so sweet, still a little drowsy, snuggling close to the too-big sweater and nibbling at the sandwich while he watched the countryside out the window.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once the sandwich was reduced to a wrapper, he grabbed his bag from under the table to fish out his mail and read through it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Antonio</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he said suddenly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is it?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lovino held up a letter in his shaking hand. “It’s from Lorenzo. My cousin Lorenzo. He’s alive…” Lovino blinked hurriedly. “The injury got him sent home… and, and he wants me to come to Seborga when the war is over, to visit my family.” Lovino set the letter in his lap, staring out the window with relieved wonder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll bring you too,” he said. Antonio raised his eyebrows. “To Italy.” </span>
</p><p><span>“I am</span> <span>not going to make an appearance at your family reunion.” </span></p><p>
  <span>“You won’t have to. You can stay in a hotel for a few nights while I’m with them, and then we’ll go to my great uncle’s vineyard; there’s a spare apartment over the wine shop. It’s small, but big enough for us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A </span>
  <em>
    <span>vineyard</span>
  </em>
  <span>? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Wine </span>
  </em>
  <span>shop?” Antonio echoed. “Is that really a good idea?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You could gut me alive before I drank my family’s wine.” Antonio shook his head. “Listen,” Lovino murmured, lowering his voice. “You’ll be beside me all day, and at night you can lash me to the bed.” Antonio still looked a bit hesitant. “I’ll have to teach you some Italian if you’ll be out there on your own. And how to dress. Your style alone will make the natives actively hostile towards you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s wrong with how I dress?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s not ask questions we know the answer to,” he said. Antonio sighed and leaned away from him. The train was starting to make him sleepy, and he closed his eyes, drifting off until they reached the border. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Living in Los Angeles underwent another paradigm from a whirlwind to a cool zephyr. For the first few months, Antonio kept a close eye on Lovino, insisting they stay in his apartment because of the limited space. Without fail, he wormed his way into every outing Lovino went on. But Lovino’s friends were good people, despite the seedy nature of their acquaintances, and he trusted them to look after him. Lovino himself had an acute sense of self-discipline, enough to combat even Abel. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Antonio and Lovino were at Anneliese’s lake house when the war ended, on her private beach. Lovino was stretched out on a beach towel on his stomach, listening to the waves rush and Antonio reading </span>
  <em>
    <span>The Old Man and the Sea. </span>
  </em>
  <span>The afternoon was steady and pleasant, but there was no reason for either of them to think anything wonderous was going on outside the shelter of that stretch of sand. On the contrary, there was a weighted feeling to it, knowing that there was a war going on opposite the ocean. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Antonio!” Antonio sat up in surprise to see Francis, Arthur, Gilbert, Anneliese, and Elizabeta on the porch. Gilbert was wrestling with a bottle of champagne, which he popped and waved in the air. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is it…” Antonio started, slowly getting to his feet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We won!” Francis cried. He darted down the steps and hugged Antonio so hard he was knocked off balance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s over?” Francis nodded. Antonio grinned. He had never felt such a surge of relief in all his life. That tight string around his lungs that had pulled tauter and tauter as the war years went on snapped. He could breathe, fill his lungs with the California sea air and laugh it out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gilbert slopped champagne over the flutes and they sat on the stoop to drink. He had even thought to bring Lovino a Pellegrino, and for the briefest second the coldness between them lessened a little. His daze of happiness was so strong he even let Gilbert hug him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t believe it’s over,” Antonio muttered. He leaned on Lovino’s shoulder, shaking his head. “Thank God, it’s over…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They watched the sun go down over the sea, staring at the cream-and-gold colored clouds, something out of a renaissance painting. The neighbors began lighting off fireworks when the sky got navy and the mosquitoes emerged with fury. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Antonio drove them back to his house up in the Hills when it got dark. The second they parked, Antonio grabbed Lovino and kissed him as hard as he could. He laughed and Lovino started laughing too, holding on to Antonio’s shaking shoulders. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Carry me inside,” Lovino said, hanging his arms over Antonio’s neck. He nodded, struggling out of the car with Lovino still holding on to him. Antonio pecked him on the forehead and carried him upstairs, setting him on the bed where he lay down and stretched on the blankets, holding Antonio’s cheeks as he kissed him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Antonio went to shower while Lovino settled on the window seat, listening to Antonio sing. The city looked brighter than usual tonight, though that may have been a victory placebo. More rounds of fireworks started up. There was blissful drunken shouting beneath it all, and terrible off-key singing. Lovino found something oddly endearing about their horrible crooning, possibly because this was the type of night where nothing could have bothered him. Anything anyone did tonight was an expression of overwhelming joy and even he could not hold such a thing in contempt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When the water shut off Lovino settled on the end of the bed, still looking towards the windows and distant sprawl of Los Angeles. When Antonio returned from the bathroom Lovino hung his arms around his neck. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Will you play me something?” he murmured. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whatever you want,” Antonio said, sitting on the window seat. Lovino curled up beside him, humming the pitches for him to tune. He thought for a moment, fingers poised on the strings, then began to play something slow and gentle but not sad. Lovino loved his music, could have watched him play for hours, transfixed by the melody and the deft way his fingers moved on the strings. He loved how Antonio’s hair curled when it was wet, how the night played across his body, monochrome chiaroscuro. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He loved Antonio. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lovino curled against his thigh and looked down on the starstruck hills, feeling Antonio move his leg in time with the easy beat. He nearly fell asleep there, but kept himself away, migrating to the bed when Antonio put his guitar away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He nestled against Lovino with a soft sigh, holding him to his chest. Lovino cuddled up against him, stroking his back. Antonio sighed, submerging himself into Lovino’s touch. An odd noise escaped his throat suddenly as Lovino slid his hands down to his ass. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What was </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” he asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You just grabbed my ass, what was I </span>
  <em>
    <span>supposed</span>
  </em>
  <span> to do?” Antonio retaliated. Lovino shrugged, still laughing, and tugged Antonio’s shorts down. Antonio pushed them off with his foot and then pushed Lovino’s off. Lovino dug his hand into the sheets beside Antonio’s cheek to keep himself in place as he clumsily ground against him. Antonio put his arms around Lovino’s lower back and pulled him closer, steadying him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s easier,” he said, kissing the endpoint of Lovino’s collarbone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why do you always hide your face?” Lovino asked, freeing his grip from the sheets and forcing his chin up. “I want to see you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I look awful,” he stuttered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How do you know? Have you fucked by a mirror?” he panted. Antonio nodded. “Oh, lucky. I would love to someday.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t tell me you have some kind of mirror-related fetish,” Antonio groaned. Lovino spluttered breathlessly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That is </span>
  <em>
    <span>so </span>
  </em>
  <span>tame. I can’t imagine anything more innocuous, though my imagination is hardly banal.” He slid his leg up higher on Antonio’s torso, getting a shaky moan out of him. Lovino pushed his heel into the back of Antonio’s thigh to keep himself as close as he could get, closing his eyes to focus on the feeling of Antonio’s body against his. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tomorrow night, fuck me up against those windows. Let the whole city watch how well I take it,” Lovino muttered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dear God, that is such a bad idea I’m not even sure what the worst part of it is.” Lovino dug his hand into Antonio’s hair and made him meet his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So it doesn’t appeal to you at all?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wouldn’t say </span>
  <em>
    <span>at all</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Exactly what I thought. Your sense of adventure is in there somewhere.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, it’s gone, thanks to you. I’ve had too much,” Antonio said. Lovino attempted his sigh, but his breathing was too shallow. He held harder to Antonio’s waist with his thighs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Slow down, I don’t want to come yet.” Lovino sighed but slowed the rhythm of his hips. A sting panged Lovino’s skin as Antonio dug his nails in, whimpering under his breath. “Oh Lovino, I love you.” Lovino smiled and kissed him, feeling Antonio tense and relax beneath his hands and heel and leg. He pressed his face to Lovino’s collarbone, biting down hard as he came.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ow,” Lovino said pointedly, pushing his head back. Antonio rolled away from him, giving the ceiling a dazed smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re fine.” Lovino caught his breath and flopped against Antonio’s shoulder. Antonio sat up, kissing the inside of Lovino’s wrist and then grabbing the discarded towel off the floor to wipe his stomach off, passing it to Lovino.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lovino grazed it over his thigh and kicked it back on the floor, pulling onto his chest. He liked the weight against him, adding to his heavy drowsiness. But he didn’t want to sleep. Neither did Antonio. They went on talking while the fireworks continued outside, broken up by shouting and whooping, not closing their eyes until the sun came up.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0026"><h2>26. Chapter 26</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Sorry this story was a little rough-and-tumble. Things got quite stressful and so it's been hard to devote my energy to things I'm not really excited about, so I hope you can understand and thanks again for reading and bearing with me :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Amelia hung her arm out the window, adjusting her sunglasses and taking a drag on one of her split cigarettes. She was wearing jasmine perfume, Francis noticed. And despite the heat she had put her bomber jacket over her blouse, bouncing her ankle restlessly and tugging at the end of her skirt every few seconds. Francis didn’t think he had ever seen her so anxious.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stopped in front of the train station, and Amelia bounced out of car, leaning on the open window to thank him for the ride. She tilted her sunglasses down as she spoke, smiling at him with an unfamiliar strain. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Be back soon,” she promised, hanging off the door and then waving to him. She hurried across the street, taking her sunglasses off and hanging them off her blouse as the stood at te entrance of the Union Station. The white walls hurt her eyes, reflecting the afternoon sun and bleeding painful, stark light. Amelia dropped her cigarette on the cement and stepped on it, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. There was no need for her to be so nervous. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She stepped inside. The place reminded her of a church down to the polished floors and high windows, and she hated churches. They made her feel watched, judged, like everything she had ever done was up for ridicule. But this place was no quiet as a church was, it buzzed with movement, with people’s footsteps and jovial conversation, happy that the war was over, discussing all they could do now that life was balancing out again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Amelia smuggled herself through the crowds to the platform Mameko’s train arrived at. It was supposed to get in a little past four, but it had arrived already. Amelia’s heart felt congested. She stuffed her hand in her skirt pocket for her cigarettes. She broke one in half with her stuttering fingers, lighting it as she searched the crowd for Mameko. Would she look different than she had the last time Amelia had seen her? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Someone tapped her arm lightly. Amelia turned around, and there she was, there was Mameko with her polite, warm smile. All at once the station felt like a church again, somewhere Amelia could drop to her knees and praise God for finally offering her what she had wanted for so long. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mameko!” Amelia threw her cigarette down and hugged her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello,” she murmured. She rested her chin on Amelia’s shoulder. Amelia knew she wasn’t terribly partial to hugging, but it had been four years, she was going to hug her, damnit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Letting go of her, Amelia assessed her appearance. She was nineteen now, her hair was longer, done in loose pin curls like the women in Hollywood. She had a certain murkiness behind her eyes that hadn’t been there when Amelia had kissed her goodbye all those years ago, a lifetime ago. She held Mameko’s hands, narrow, soft between hers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You smell nice,” Mameko said. “Jasmine is my favorite.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know,” Amelia replied, grinning. She didn’t know what else to say. This was what she had feared, this disconnect, that time had ruined them. “I’m house-sitting for Mr. Carriedo, because he’s off in Italy with Mr. Vargas. He said I could have you over if I wanted some company,” she winked. Amelia linked her arm through Mameko’s and walked with her to the doors of the station, out towards Francis’s waiting car. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>_____________</b>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a flower box hanging off the balustrade on the balcony of Lorenzo’s home in Seborga. A few little herbs poked out of the dirt, but no flowers, and Lovino sniffed at them. The door opened behind him and Lorenzo walked over beside him, nudging his arm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you want me to get you one?” he asked, gesturing to his grappa. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No thanks. I don’t drink,” Lovino said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right.” Lorenzo looked out towards the distant treeline and the lower part of the town. “I’ll take a cigarette if you’ve got some, though.” Lorenzo fished in his pocket for a box, pressing it into his hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have to ask you something,” he began, watching Lovino spark his lighter. Lovino inclined his head. “Do you ever regret it?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I regret a lot of things, be specific,” he said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right.” Lorenzo leaned on the railing, staring at his glass. “Do you regret saving me in France?” Lovino took a drag and exhaled hard out his nose to stop himself from laughing; he’d been asking himself that question almost every day of his life since it had happened and never really answered it. Lovino studied him for a moment. He looked drastically older than he had on the front, no longer pale or thin, the brightness back in his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Lovino said. “Not for a second.” Lorenzo smiled a bit, drumming his fingers on the railing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought the Army would shoot you,” he muttered. “I didn’t say this when I wrote you, but… When you saved me it really… really messed me up.” Lovino looked at him, but Lorenzo kept his gaze fixed on the street below them. “Knowing, I don’t now, that I might have shot you. I killed a few Americans, but I comforted myself by remembering they were enemy. But then you showed up, and I couldn’t keep pretending those weren’t people in the other trench.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He downed the rest of his grappa and winced. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It took an hour for me to see a doctor because the ambulance was stuck in the mud. And while I was waiting for him, I realized that I didn’t want to die. Sounds dumb, but when I first joined the military, I considered it an honor to, but I realized how much more life I could have, I wanted to grow up, and…” he trailed off. “Just needed to get that off my chest.”   </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turned to go, but Lovino called him back. “I lied,” he said stiffly. “I used to regret saving you. I didn’t know if you lived, and if you hadn’t… You were so young. I thought, if I let you die, you would have been free from ever fighting again.” Lovino should his head. “When I got your letter, I got this assurance that I’d done the right thing, and then I stopped regretting it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lorenzo nodded. “Makes sense.” They stood in silence for a while, looking down at the setting sun over the town. Lorenzo lit a cigarette, listening to the birds in the nearby trees while Lovino stared at the little herbs in the flower box. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why did you come out here, anyway? Getting sick of Mama asking you about your nonexistent wife?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Lovino said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’ll set you up with someone here if you’re not careful,” Lorenzo warned. “You are old to be unmarried,” he added with a tone that hinted at Lovino to give him some insight. Lovino wouldn’t offer it, so he sighed and left him alone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lovino paid no mind to his family’s jabs about him not having a wife. He expected it. What was not expected was his cousin’s engagement announcement after dinner. And as everyone congratulated her and raised their glasses and her mother got teary, it hit him that he would never make that excited announcement, or have a wedding at all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t need to be married. Whether or not he had a ring changed nothing about how he felt about Antonio, but he hated the fact he had no no choice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He met Antonio at the Genoa train station the following week. It was late in the evening and he was sleepy from the trip, moving sluggishly through the jostling crowd around him. He eventually found Antonio, standing beneath a clock and watching two large pigeons with distant fear in his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Antonio,” Lovino said. Antonio glanced up and his tired expression broke into that smile Lovino loved so much. “I’m exhausted,” he said, dropping his suitcase and frightening the pigeons.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My hotel isn’t far,” Antonio promised. “I’ll carry your luggage.” Lovino thanked him, following him outside into the dusk to his hotel. Lovino  showered while Antonio looked over the tickets for the various train trips, tracing the routes on an over-folded map.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lovino emerged from the bathroom and flopped onto the made bed, loudly groaning into the pillows. “Of course I was drained as all hell on the train, but now I’m so awake.” Antonio chuckled, seating himself beside Lovino. Lovino turned to face him and sighed. “What were you up to?” he asked, looking at the mess of papers on the bureau.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Making sure all our tickets were in order. Our train leaves at seven tomorrow for Bologna, and we’re set to arrive around thirteen, so we’ll have an hour for lunch before the one to Rome. I got a hotel for two nights there, because I wanted to see the city, even if…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The shit’s been bombed out of it?” Lovino suggested.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wouldn’t say that, the raids weren’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>too</span>
  </em>
  <span> terrible, that I know of anyway. We’re leaving for Naples at six, because then we can get to Calabria by evening, stay the night, and take a boat to Sicily in the morning. I got us one to Messina, so we have one more train to Palermo that gets in at fourteen, if everything goes according to plan.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That sounds </span>
  <em>
    <span>exhausting</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Lovino groaned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ll be sitting almost the entire time,” Antonio retaliated. Lovino sighed again anyway, turning onto his side and putting an arm over Antonio’s waist. “How was your family?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Doing well. My cousin is getting married. It was all she talked about the last few days I was there, and I… It made me realize I won’t ever be able to marry you.” Lovino rested his cheek on his thigh and threaded his fingers through Antonio’s. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We could be married in secret,” Antonio suggested.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not about the marriage. More the party, the entire family together, the dancing, that sort of thing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right. I’m sorry,” he muttered. Lovino shrugged. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“At least we’re taking this trip,” he murmured. “It’s sort of like the honeymoon we’ll never have.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s depressing,” Antonio said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>_____________</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lovino had been right; traveling was exhausting. They got to Palermo in the early evening and met Lovino’s great uncle at the train station, climbing into the back of his car. Antonio fell asleep with cheek against the door, snapping awake every few minutes when Lovino’s uncle hit a pothole. He seemed to be actively trying to drive over every crag in the uneven country road.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you alright?” Lovino asked when they arrived. Antonio offered no response. He climbed out of the backseat and leaned on it for support while Lovino helped his uncle with the suitcases. Due to Antonio still looking very green, Lovino carried Antonio’s bag up the stairs to the small apartment for him. While he set their things in the bedroom Antonio was trapped talking with his uncle, who either didn’t know or didn’t care that Antonio understood a few quarters of the conversation and couldn’t respond. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lovino rescued him and took over talking while Antonio went to lay down. It was a good half an hour when Lovino came in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you tell him I don’t speak Italian?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, but he doesn’t mind. He’s been terribly lonely since my aunt died, so he’s desperate to talk to someone,” Lovino said. “I bought him a ticket to Catania. He’s leaving the day after tomorrow, which he says is excellent because he needs to rest his bones after the stress of the war.” Lovino sat on the end of the bed and lit a cigarette, leaning over to push the window open. It stuck and Antonio had to help him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did he fight?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who knows? Certainly not him.” Lovino stood by the window, its old oak border like a frame on the canvases lining Lovino’s walls in Los Angeles. The comparison took the reality away from the world, made it another one of those paintings; the scrubby plants, the vineyard, the distant edge of Palermo. He imagined he saw the dark blue line of the ocean past the clutter of buildings, could smell it in the gust drifting through the cypress and olive trees. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lovino flopped down on the bed and rested his head in Antonio’s lap, looking up at the ceiling. The room was more of an attic, built into the roofline, giving it a certain feeling of warmth and closeness. Lovino traced the rafters with his eyes while Antonio messed with his hair and admired the countryside. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m going to turn in,” Lovino announced, getting up to the change. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s so early.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m tired.” Antonio shrugged and lay down, his free hand behind his head. The bed was stiff, but after days of uncomfortable train seats, it was heavenly. He liked the air of the place, the humming cicadas, the woody scent, the soft zephyr meandering in through the open window perfumed with dry grass and salty sea. They fell asleep listening to the cicadas and other night bugs, the breeze softer and cooler as the night went on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Antonio woke to sunlight on the unkempt sheets and Lovino on his stomach, an arm hanging over the mattress. The new morning light settled in the curves of his back, the wind lifting loose strands of his sleep-stringy hair. Antonio was too sleepy to get up, so he kissed Lovino’s shoulder and rolled over to doze off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he woke again, the sun was low in the east, the bed empty beside him. Lovino had tucked the blanket around him so he wouldn’t get cold. Antonio smiled against the pillows and rolled onto his spine, stretching and then pulling the blanket up to his chest; to his surprise, the dawn was chilly. He sunk into the warmth and sighed, smelling coffee. An outdated, scratching phonograph was playing some ancient Italian opera music, muffled by the wall. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door opened and Lovino walked in holding two steaming cups. He must have showered because his hair was wet and combed back haphazardly , and he had thrown on the sweater looted from Antonio in Mexico. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Antonio sat up while Lovino perched on the end of the bed. “How was your rest?” Lovino asked, pushing a bit of his hair away from his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good,” Antonio murmured, helping himself to the coffee. “So, what’s on tap for today?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Recuperating from traveling,” Lovino said. “Sitting on the veranda, just enjoying the day. God knows I haven’t done that in a long time.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t think of a better idea,” Antonio replied, clinking his cup with Lovino’s. Lovino smiled, brushing his hair away from his forehead and kissing him on the cheek. Antonio hummed happily as Lovino curled up beside him, leaning against his arm to watch the sun come up. </span>
</p>
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